The Samurai Prince
by 1arigato
Summary: Ryoma's dad was known in the tennis world as "Samurai Nanjirou." Too bad the world has never seen what a real swordsman can actually do. Nor has Japan's middle school tennis players known that their favorite rookie had spent a majority of his childhood wielding a sword and not a racket. Rated K plus to be safe. Previously the oneshot "Musings of a Samurai Prince;" now a multi-shot.
1. Oneshot

**Musings of a Samurai Prince**

Ryoma's dad was known in the tennis world as "Samurai Nanjirou." Too bad the world has never seen what a real swordsman can actually do. Nor has Japan's middle school tennis players known that their favourite rookie had spent a majority of his childhood wielding a sword and not a racket. Rated K+ to be safe.

–––

Others watched as middle school tennis players of Japan risked their tennis future to play just for the chance to win national championships with their team before members graduated.

Ryoma _listened_.

Sempai who chanced never being able to play again just to see their team go to the championships before graduating let their efforts in a match speak their dreams and resolutions for them where words could not, and while Ryoma was perfectly aware of those around him, his fellow audience, hold their breath or cheer for the one risking it all, Ryoma wished they could see the depths he was capable of seeing. Communication was so restricted by words, gestures, and tones of voice, that sometimes Ryoma would realise only he of his fellow tennis players could sense the true intentions or willpower of other fellow tennis players. It came with serving the strongest mafia famiglia in the world, he supposed. Most of the time, fortunately, his fellow tennis players could, and Ryoma could hold his breath or cheer knowing the same feelings coursing through him was coursing through everyone else, too.

Ryoma also scoffed.

It was automatic, and while oftentimes Ryoma wished he hadn't felt as so, his reaction couldn't be helped. As a CEDEF operative who quickly rose in the chain of command, Ryoma had witnessed brave men and women sacrifice their identities, sanity, and lives for the sake of a future where their family and Family would stay alive and live in a peace mafiosi could not. In middle school, Ryoma was watching boys risk small things for a game, with the occasional big sacrifice coming up now and then. Even the annoying shark – Squalo – ranted how sports was an excuse for pussies who wanted to feel important. The real world didn't have rules, he argued – why should sports? Regardless of how much Ryoma argued, or wished to argue, the annoying shark and the rest of the Varia leaders couldn't understand a sportsman's passion, and the civilian world with its sports could not understand the sacrifices and physical capabilities of elite assassins that belonged to the mafia.

If not for Ryoma's spending most of his years growing up as a Vongola mafioso serving CEDEF, then his heritage as part of a branch of the Yamamoto swordsman line would have caused this automatic scoffing for him. The pervy old man had found a passion for tennis instead of the Shigure Soen Ryu that grandfather wished to pass on to his son, but when Ryoma showed potential even "Samurai Nanjirou" (what a joke; no one had even seen what a _real_ samurai could do) recognised, grandfather quickly trained little Ryoma and allowed him to flourish under his guidance. Nanjirou's love for tennis obviously passed on to his son, however, when, despite grandfather's and even the old man's protests, Ryoma determinedly learned how to wield both the racket and the sword. After accidentally catching a few eyes and getting pulled into the mafia, Ryoma suddenly experienced what fighting for survival truly felt, and tennis player Ryoma gave way for CEDEF operative Ryoma. Those were the most trying, yet most _fun_, years of his admittedly short life thus far, but a sudden betrayal by the annoying shark and the rest of Varia by blaming an attempted assassination of the Ninth on Ryoma and his crew reminded Ryoma how he once danced at the knife edge between the familial mafia and the unforgiving Cosa Nostra. As if tired of playing with him, the underground world tossed Ryoma back where he came from, back to a small family of only oyaji, mom, and himself with the most to expect a future filled with tennis.

Nothing could be done about it. Despite the Nono's just nature, even Ryoma recognised that a coup d'état orchestrated by the Ninth's son wouldn't settle well with the mafia public and the Vongola Famiglia itself, so with what swordsman and CEDEF pride he had left, peacefully allowed himself to be exiled from all things related Vongola. A future of tennis appeared to really be all Ryoma had left, and while it hurt to be so aware of this, excitement bubbled at returning home where a racket nestled in his hands. Of course, Ryoma had to relearn things. Dying Will Flames were the final level to these "pinnacles" so respected in the tennis world, and so long as Ryoma had no desire to wreck tennis courts and harm his civilian opponents, he had to learn from the bottom up when it came to pinnacles, and not jump into flames like his sword with special metal or the pills Master Sawada provided allowed Ryoma to do.

Therefore, Ryoma also felt respect.

Any child would happily take shortcuts if possible, but with startling discipline Ryoma himself didn't know he had, he didn't dip into the slumbering, molten warmth sitting in his stomach, waiting to be awakened and start lighting up flames again. Ryoma admired how mere civilians without any knowledge or connections – socially or hereditary – to the mafia world understood something as innate as a fire that burned from resolution, though the actual Dying Will Flame never appeared except through the diluted form of pinnacles. Ryoma had his moments; the inward scoff his mafia-exposed side made would sometimes leak through and give Ryoma the image of an arrogant child, but it couldn't be helped, especially the time when team Seigaku fussed over a cut near his eye, even Tezuka-buchou staring at his kohai in concern with the strict statement he'd pull Ryoma out if the match didn't end in the allotted time. (Honestly, it was just a cut. Nothing like the finishing slash Squalo dished out that ended up severing most of the nerves in Ryoma's left arm, though thank goodness Riku was skilled in Sun flames. No matter how much fun Ryoma got out of calling his comrade names like snowman and albino, the white-haired mafioso had earned Ryoma's begrudging respect.)

Watching these civilians – around the same age as Ryoma – pour out such passion into something as "pussy" (the annoying shark's words, of course) as tennis, Ryoma rediscovered what the sport had meant to him when he was younger, still a child playing around with his baka oyaji before grandfather had watched a "match" and spotted Ryoma's potential for the sword. Maybe his past experience with Dying Will Flames affected how soon Ryoma achieved the Pinnacle of Perfection, but to relive his early years through the most innocent, unadulterated joy of simply _playing tennis_, Ryoma found he didn't want to let the pinnacle go. Surrounded by his teammates and newfound friends, however, the brief, sudden attachment to the pinnacle vanished just as quick as it came. Ryoma wondered if that was what drew the old man to watch his match against Yukimura; had his father worried that Ryoma's old relationship with the mafia would hinder Ryoma's capability to access the Pinnacle of Perfection and feel happiness again? Regardless, Ryoma handed a Ponta to his baka oyaji that day without a comment of certain reading material stashed under the couch or a demand for payment for buying his dad a drink both father and son confessed to be their addiction.

So despite himself, Ryoma felt a mix of small derision and great respect for these tennis players of his generation whom he could call allies, rivals, and friends. The U19 camp only solidified this, much to Ryoma's surprise that he could still _be_ surprised. What Ryoma didn't expect was for his past to catch up to him.

In the form of Varia.

_"Master Sawada?" "I need you to help keep safe some rings for me." "Voooi, Pussycat! Hand over the rings, or it'll be a repeat of eight years ago!" Ah, the Crib Affair. Too bad I've progressed since then. "Come at me, annoying shark." _

–––

**A/N: How was it? In all honesty, I had an entire chapter series going for this AU (originally an Eyeshield 21, Prince of Tennis, and Katekyo Hitman Reborn crossover – hence the mention of a Riku in this fic coming from Riku Kaitani of the ES21verse), which I came up with several years ago. After looking through my notebooks and old fanfictions, I wrote this in memory of my dead plot bunny. Who knows, maybe I'll actually publish the series on FFN. ;p**


	2. Ch 1: Welcome to Japan

**Chapter One**

**Welcome to Japan**

* * *

Restless.

Echizen Ryoma, the rumoured "Samurai Prince" of the underground world and most known for his role as a high-ranking mafioso of CEDEF, honest-to-goodness _fidgeted_ like the cute high-school boy he first appeared to be. Getting exiled from all things related Vongola because of an attempted murder he was framed for was bad enough; twisting a lid on his need to swing a sword and test himself against opponents like Squalo – despite the annoying shark he was – because of Ryoma's return to the civilian scene absolutely irritated him. Ryoma had no problem living with the "normal" world – in fact he sometimes preferred it, what with its sparkling tennis – but even a few months of entering and winning youth competitions in America did nothing to quench Ryoma' incessant need to _compete_. His pervert of a father obviously identified this and demanded a sudden change of scenery for the family in the form of moving to an entirely different country and enrolling Ryoma into a high school the old man had played for as a child.

Baka oyaji.

There was a time that Ryoma played tennis with the same passion his dad had enough of to earn himself the nickname "Samurai Nanjirou," but that was so long ago, and grandfather – the actual samurai of the Echizen family – had taught and engrained everything he knew of the family swords style, the Shigure Soen Ryu, into Ryoma in such a manner that while Ryoma had practiced tennis with equal effort, the way of the sword had become a major part of Ryoma's life that it was hard to imagine going on in life without it. The need of survival in the mafia ensured that. It didn't take long for Ryoma to catch Vongola's eye, as the mafia had great presence in Italy and America – and who was Vongola to not own a majority of said presence – gave a good reason for the major change in Ryoma's early life to suddenly steer him down a career path working for a criminal syndicate. Moving to another country didn't change anything of Ryoma's circumstances except for replacing the western mafia for the Japanese yakuza. The "Samurai Prince" was still dishonorably exiled from his own famiglia; Echizen Ryoma was still grasping what he could of tennis to avoid drowning in the normal-ness of the civilian world; and a boy torn between swordsman and sportsman was still struggling to find himself while in a situation where he had to deny the part of himself he left behind in CEDEF when Vongola turned him away.

"A western grip is like shaking hands!"

Baka sempai-tachi.

With all this in mind, it made perfect sense as to why it was that an Echizen Ryoma was fidgeting in his seat in the subway not from discomfort at how close the idiot – Sasabe, was it? – was swinging a tennis racket around, spouting out inaccurate facts to his friends, but because of restlessness. The swinging was still annoying, though. A casual but frank request for such displays of idiocy to stop quickly shut up the small group of sempais and surprised the boastful Sasabe into dropping his racket. The stunned, awkward silence that followed was quickly cemented in place for at least a little longer when Ryoma pointed out that the way Sasabe was picking up his racket from the floor was the correct western grip. The girl sitting across from Ryoma had sent the ex-mafioso a grateful look, to which he courteously nodded like the gentleman he was; Vongola could not stand sloppy members, after all. As Ryoma's past experiences in Japan were mostly visits to keep young Tsunayoshi some company closer to the child's age as Master Sawada and his "wonderful Nana-chan" reunited, the area the baka oyaji had brought the family to move into was still very much foreign to Ryoma. The girl whom had silently thanked Ryoma for stopping the sempai's wild swinging pointed Ryoma to a direction that hopefully led to the tennis competition the oyaji insisted Ryoma tried out after he asked, to which the girl shyly played with her braids before bowing and wishing him luck. Cute. Was all of Japan like this?

Regardless, Ryoma had never gazed at a female in favour of focusing on tennis or the sword, and it was highly likely that would ever change. Whatever brownie points the nameless girl had earned from Ryoma quickly vanished when Ryoma realised his directions were wrong and thus arrived late to the registration desk, automatically disqualifying him from the tournament. Right when he needed an outlet for his restlessness the most. The girl popped up again, extremely apologetic to the point of even buying Ryoma a Ponta – possibly earning her back a few of the cool points she lost, for one could not call himself an Echizen without having an addiction for Ponta – when a set of familiar faces appeared as well.

"What's wrong, brat? Lost your match already?"

Oooh, that Sasabe was asking for it. Ryoma's golden eyes flashed when his body saw the swing coming before his mind did, but any automatic reaction involving disarming the sempai before him and breaking one bone from his body, maybe two, was immediately halted when Ryoma recognised that the sempai had no intentions of hitting a kid that wouldn't fight back. Familiar instincts stirred at the almost threat, begging to be unleashed so as to be prepared for a real threat, but this was a _city park_, not a battlefield. The worst Ryoma could expect was running out of Ponta.

"Why don't you and the kid settle it out in a match, Sasabe?"

"What do you think, brat? Ready to lose to a sempai in the blink of an eye?"

_I could break your neck in less than that._ "Hn."

Cheating! As the match progressed, this arrogant sempai and his friends had gone to the point of pretending that Ryoma's shots both sides of the court knew to be in were out, and while it had been a few years since Ryoma had seriously given his all in tennis, he would _not_ lose to a group of cheaters. In the mafia, anything went so long as things got done, but tennis was an entirely different manner. It was part of what attracted Ryoma to the sport of his childhood, as coming up with ways to win while strategising with what rules stated were and were not allowed gave Ryoma a sense of thrill. The annoying shark — and everyone else in the mafia, for that manner — would never understand. His past aside, Ryoma could not settle with leaving the park having lost to cheaters, so he decided to incorporate what experience and knowledge he had relating to the nature of objects to show that _this_ high-schooler wasn't one to be messed with. A little revenge couldn't hurt either, especially when over the course of their first few games, the sempai's racket had "accidentally" slipped from his hands and cut the side of Ryoma's face.

"The ball spun in place at the singles line? And it didn't bounce!" Try calling _that_ one out-of-bounds, _sempai-tachi_.

"Woah, isn't that a twist serve?" An eye for an eye, jerks.

Ryoma dispassionately watched as his opponent shielded himself with his racket with eyes shut in fear of getting hit by the twist serve, when for the final serve, Ryoma simply lobbed a ball to the doubles box on the other side of the court. At one of the sempai's weak declaration of "Game set!" and the expressions on the faces of Ryoma's small audience, the short match was satisfying enough to have gotten rid of that itch of restlessness. When Ryoma's opponent started making excuses for his loss and began demanding another set from Ryoma despite it being obvious the outcome would be the same, Ryoma released a short huff and shared advice with the sempai who obviously needed it.

"As a man, you should know when to fairly accept defeat."

Of course, fools will be fools, and when the sempai's persistence finally annoyed Ryoma enough, he delivered a swift, powerful shot that revealed to the sempai group that this "brat" was actually left-handed, whereas he had been playing with his right the entire time. After the arrival of the girl's grandmother and the consequential dashing off of the sempais, Ryoma quickly followed suite and disappeared, leaving the angered court authorities for the grandmother to deal with. Ryoma could care less about unauthorised court usage; he was supposed to play in the tournament anyway, if the braid-girl had not given him wrong directions.

* * *

Karupin was the first to enthusiastically greet Ryoma when he returned to the place most recently labeled "home." The Himalayan cat had been with Ryoma since before he got involved with the mafia, and Ryoma had even brought the feline with him to Italy when he became an active member of CEDEF. The cat was playful and easy to please, as well as knew who and who not to scratch often. Sharks and cats never got along in the beginning, anyways, only this time it was the domestic pet dominating the ocean predator. Ryoma loved pointing that out to Squalo whenever possible.

"So?" Ryoma heard his dad call from the couch, "How was it?" The tennis bag hit the floor with a light thud when Ryoma set it down in a corner of the house. "I didn't play." Echizen Nanjirou scrambled to sit up, setting aside his pervert magazines for the first time since lying on the couch. "What!" Ryoma's dad had good reason to be surprised; while Nanjirou had not always been a part of Ryoma's life in the years the young Echizen was a mafioso, he was still Ryoma's father, and thus understood much of the quirks and depths of his son's character that would take others years before coming to the same level of understanding Ryoma. Nanjirou didn't ask much of what happened to his son while working for the mafia, nor did he push for answers relating to what caused the young Echizen to come home exhausted and emotionally hurt while gripping a racket as tight as if letting go would make him fall apart. Ryoma was eternally grateful for that, because he couldn't imagine explaining the extent of his role in organised crime and being betrayed by elite assassins whom he once called friends and allies to his father; he didn't even know how to bring the subject up.

Ryoma took out a specific racket from his bag and headed for the backyard where a dirt tennis court awaited. "I'm going to practice for a little," he informed his dad, not explaining why he didn't play in the tournament. "Call me when you need me." Nanjirou didn't join him, aware what Ryoma meant. For a baka oyaji, the man was quite perceptive. Mrs. Echizen was not at home, as she had gone to buy groceries, so no one but Karupin was around to watch Ryoma swing his racket faster than 300 km per hour, transforming it into a beautiful 116 cm katana. The Echizen family was a branch of the Yamamoto line, where only members deemed worthy learned the unbeatable form of the Shigure Soen Ryu in order to keep the swords style alive. The famous quote, "a true swordsman can make a sword out of anything," had become a sort of way of life, when the Yamamotos took it quite literally and learned how to make transforming swords. Now, though, only two of the kind existed; Yamamoto Tsuyoshi owned one, Ryoma the other. Unlike Tsuyoshi's, which was passed down since the early generations of the Yamamotos, Ryoma had created his own.

Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, another swordsman besides Squalo Ryoma recognised, could no longer fight as deadly as Ryoma knew him capable of due to an injury, so in respect and memory of whom Ryoma thought of as an uncle, Ryoma named his sword the Shigure Gintoki – a Silver Moment – versus Tsuyoshi's Shigure Shintoki – a Golden Moment. His racket-cum-sword could still be used as the spare racket it was set up to look like, but Ryoma never wanted to chance using it for tennis or else his swings might exceed 300 km and he'd end up slicing the ball. All three of his rackets appeared identical, but Ryoma had marked the transforming sword with a P for Prince at the butt of the racket where a brand logo usually was. So it was that a seemingly unused racket gave way for a deadly blade, flickering a cool-coloured aura for a moment before it vanished as if only a product of one's imagination.

In the dusty backyard of a temple with only a cat and the sky his audience, a Samurai Prince cut his soul into the air as sakura petals danced around him, taking pieces of it away.

* * *

Let it be known that Momoshiro "Momo" Takeshi was _not_ a stalker. In fact, if anyone was a stalker, it would either be Inui or Fuji, though bless the souls of those unfortunate enough to earn the latter's attention, as Fuji Syusuke was practically the real-life version of horror movies, and that was with the eyes closed. Inui only observed for the data, and while his numbers were frighteningly accurate down to what people ate for breakfast, the glasses-wearing sempai didn't need to follow his subjects home to come up with such data. Regardless, Momo consoled himself with the fact that he was not _stalking_ the freshman duo that had asked him for the direction of the tennis courts, but simply _observing_. The loud one, Horatio or Oreo or something, had gotten himself and two other freshman tangled up in a pair of second-years' pranking in the form of a can most likely full of rocks. What interested Momo, however, was the hidden, all-knowing stare of the green-haired freshman standing at the side, courteously waiting for the Horatio character to fail.

The kid was something to have caught Momo's eye in their first meeting. The 2nd-year regular had encountered many athletes in his life, but none had tried so hard looking casual and fitting in as the green-haired freshman. Walking around with the Oreo guy helped immensely in deflecting attention, but that was basically all of the camouflage the green-haired freshman had, as flimsy as it was. Because if anyone looked past the "supporting background" role the freshman appeared to play, they'd notice the casual stride and high-held chin that spoke of self-confidence and content; this was someone who wouldn't let himself be stepped on, and was prepared to educate others of it. The Horatio kid wasn't the lead character – it was the green-haired one.

Momo swallowed thickly when, after denting the can and sending the rocks inside spilling out, the all-knowing gaze of the freshman settled on him. Now that he was pinned under the stare, Momo realised how scary it was, feeling as if everything of himself, even the most personal, was laid out to be analysed by those sharp eyes. The second years conning their kohai of their money started, surprised at the appearance of a Seigaku regular, before remembering Momo had sprained his ankle and was forced to stay behind while the others went on a small tennis tour. The freshmen trio on the court looked the most rattled in meeting a regular so quickly, but Momo set them at ease with a lazy, friendly smile. The green-haired freshman's eyes only narrowed at the act, and Momo wondered what he did to recieve such a stare, before sending his characteristic, outgoing smile to the kid, only to get no reaction at all. Momo faced his fellow second years again, conscious of the kid's presence.

"Tricking your kohai isn't right, you know. It isn't."

Friendly yet firm. Momo never liked bullies, anyway, and he was the kind of person to step in and settle things out before the situation got out of hand. What he didn't know was that he reminded an Echizen Ryoma of a certain baseball player in Namimori whom Ryoma considered a cousin – a cousin who had the potential to be a swordsman surpassing even Squalo, Tsuyoshi, and Ryoma with the Shigure Soen style. What Momo _did_ know was that the green-haired freshman before him knew of his sprained ankle when the golden eyes flickered to said injury, and agreed to a short match with Momo anyway.

"A twist serve, huh? This is my first time hitting one."

It took not only timing, but power to send the ball back, but Momo was the power player of Seigaku's regulars, and it was only a matter of time before their game progressed into a real match. The freshman was nimble and calculative, if the soft yet angled shots were anything to go by, and despite going easy on Momo so as to prevent irritating the sprained ankle, the freshman was not letting his sempai win. The only special move the kid had dished out was the twist serve, and even that was not as fierce as Momo suspected it to truly be, but something lied under the freshman's movements, threatening but polite about it. Momo found himself a little excited at his observations — this year was going to be interesting. When Momo's playful remarks finally stirred his opponent into "showing what he's got," the freshman had the gall to switch hands, before Momo came to a realisation the others had not.

This kid was a lefty.

Before the freshman could prepare to serve, Momo called time, claiming he'd let everyone off for using the courts without permission just this once. As everyone left the court, Momo was surprised to see a smirk painted on the kid's lips before the four freshmen disappeared. Was the kid having…fun? "If only your ankle wasn't injured!" one of Momo's fellow second years grumbled, annoyed a freshman had scored points against one of the only second-year regulars. "You were only going at probably half of your power, maybe even less!" _My opponent was doing the same._ Momo jovially smiled at them anyways. "It doesn't matter, yeah. It doesn't. You can complain about it after you've returned what money you've conned to the rightful owners." Sad to see the profit go but genuinely sorry, the pair of second years disappeared to do as Momo kindly asked, leaving the regular alone by the tennis courts to gaze contemplatively at scattered rocks and a dented can.

* * *

Arai glared contemptuously at the freshman before him, who was meeting his eyes evenly. Arai's brow twitched. Just because this shrimp played equally with Momoshiro didn't mean he earned respect among the Seigaku students. Arai was closer to being a regular, darn it, not this kid!

"Do you need something, sempai?"

Arai gritted his teeth. The freshman hadn't been impolite, really, but his confident presence rubbed Arai the wrong way, as if challenging Arai to _make_ him be impolite and see what would happen. The kid's posture said "lazy," but his piercing, mirth-filled gaze said _threatening_. For a moment, just in the shutter of an eye, Arai experienced hesitation. Did he dare provoke a kitten waiting to sink its claws into prey in the name of innocent fun? Not one to tolerate weakness in mind, especially in himself, Arai drew himself up to show who exactly was the sempai of the two. The kid did not even blink in the obvious height difference, instead playfully amused.

"It's _Arai_-sempai to you, kid."

"And its Echizen to you, _sempai_."

Now with a real excuse to think of this kid as disrespectful, Arai grabbed the front of the kid's shirt and raised it so that the freshman had to look up to meet Arai's glare.

"You—!"

"10 laps to the two of you for causing a commotion in the courts."

Arai's audience increased to the entirety of the Seigaku tennis club when the captain got involved, yet the kid in Arai's raised grip didn't even appear affected. As murmurs of Tezuka Kunimitsu's arrival rippled across the courts, Arai felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment.

"Buchou! It's this kid's fault—"

"20 laps."

The green-haired freshman had already vanished from Arai's grasp without him realising it and had started his assigned laps ahead of Arai. Tezuka's last, absolute order of 20 laps kicked Arai into action, causing him to scramble after the freshman to run laps around the Seigaku tennis courts. Somehow, Arai was going to get revenge with the brat, starting with the dusty racket lying in the locker room…. Momo, meanwhile, had his eyes on the green-haired freshman from the moment Arai approached the kid, and his fellow regulars noticed.

"Ne, Momo, you haven't been paying much attention since the warm up," Kikumaru whined. Oishi, ever the mother hen, fretted over the recently injured regular. "What's wrong, is the ankle still bothering you? You should keep it easy for the rest of the week." Momo waved off their concerns, an easy smile on his face. Fuji, ever the perceptive regular, tilted his head with a smile. "Is it the freshman, Momoshiro?" The non-regular members of the tennis club kept oblivious to the conversation between the regulars as they had slowly turned back to their practice, but the regulars did not in favour of wondering at Momo's interest in a first year. Tezuka was approaching the regular's courts, and Momo, knowing his captain wouldn't like it if anyone was off task, shook his head and returned his attention to the Mamushi, who was his practice opponent. The regulars knew that Momo's action was not a denial of Fuji's question, and did the same, aware things would explain themselves later.

* * *

Restless.

That was how Sakuno saw the transfer student from America.

In all honesty, Sakuno was occupied with desperately wishing the sempai's racket didn't hit her during her ride in the train, so she had not noticed the quiet boy's presence until he stopped the sempai quite suddenly. Even later on, when her grandmother was off searching for an Echizen in the park tournament, Sakuno had not noticed the boy until she practically walked on him, as he was lazing in the shade of a tree, so bored that even sleep escaped him. The sight struck a cord in Sakuno's heart, and while the offer of Ponta appeared to lighten him up a bit, a challenge from the sempais from the train appeared to do so even more. This guy thrived off of competing, Sakuno realised, especially obvious when, despite the sempais' dirty cheating, a smirk and bright eyes were on the boy's face. Grandmother's sudden arrival and quiet commentary brought to light a background and a name: Echizen Ryoma, son of a long-graduated Seigaku tennis player Grandmother had coached before. The boy, Ryoma-kun, had disappeared before Sakuno got the chance to properly meet him, but they met each other soon enough the next day, on the first day of school.

They shared many classes together, and it took a few introductions before Ryoma-kun finally remembered Sakuno's name, but she was content. Tomoka-chan was taken by the collected, detached presence Ryoma-kun unintentionally gave, and quickly took advantage of his relations as Sakuno's new friend to talk to him and sneak a few pictures, intent on creating an Echizen Ryoma fan club and establishing herself as president. Sakuno understood her friend's eccentric nature, but making such a big deal of the transfer student might end up scaring him back to America. Ryoma-kun didn't appear too affected, to which Sakuno was grateful, and while she noticed he would walk faster when Tomoka-chan's or sometimes Horio-kun's voices could be heard coming their way, she could sense he was still ill with restlessness. The fact that there was no real activity for him to pour out excess energy into was nipping at his heels like Tomoka-chan on a mission.

Sakuno had never seen the restlessness give way for anything else except the morning that Ryoma-kun walked into class with his jaw set, movements cat-like, and eyes stormy in an undefinable emotion Sakuno could only call a cross between annoyance and rage.

Arai-sempai had stolen all three of Ryoma-kun's rackets.

* * *

**A/N: There will be no pairings, except maybe canon. As far as I am aware, Sakuno and Ryoma were and never have been in a relationship in the manga, so I will not make them romantically interested in each other, but I can make them have an easy, understanding friendship. **

**Were any of the characters OOC? I still want this to flow nicely without losing anyone as they read, and this is a sort of "side story." I have a fic centred around Kobayakawa Sena, Kaitani Riku, and Echizen Ryoma as exiled CEDEF leaders whose civilian identities are destroyed when Varia comes storming into Japan, going after the trio's relatives (candidates of the X Generation Guardians) and the Vongola half-rings that Sawada Iemitsu entrusted to the three kids while trying to distract Varia with Basil's decoys. **

**Mentioning Sena and Riku is somewhat unavoidable, but should I explain/describe them and their role in Ryoma's mafia past more thoroughly? Should I get Ryoma/PoT characters to meet Sena, Riku, and/or KHR characters during this fic? **

**I don't usually write long Author's Notes, but please comment and let me know what you think of my questions!**

Edited: 6/14/2013

* Middle school-related terms are replaced with high school ones.


	3. Ch 2: The Ranking Tournament

**Chapter Two**

**The Ranking Tournament**

* * *

_"What's this? The brat has forgotten his racket!" Laughter, a goading look. "With memory like that, you should know your place, kid, and it isn't near the regulars." Ah, was that what this was about? It appeared Arai-sempai and his friends were annoyed by Ryoma's sudden popularity relating to his brief match with Momo-sempai, despite neither side having even given their all, but a majority of the student population wouldn't realise it anyway, so who was Ryoma to correct the rumours? "If you start acting like the pitiful freshman you are, maybe your three rackets will show up." Arai's line earned the sempai the flash of golden eyes and the twitch of a frown before both were expertly hidden by the brim of Ryoma's cap. _

_No. He. __**Didn't.**_

_This must be a form of hazing, Ryoma just knew it. He could tolerate taunts and a few (unimpressive) threats, but __**no one**__ touched his rackets — __**especially**__ when one of them was the Shigure Gintoki, the sword Ryoma had worked hard to create on his own. _

_That Arai-sempai was going to __**die**__. _

Looking back on the morning's events, Ryoma mentally agreed that planning the homicide of his sempai-tachi was, in retrospect, a bit not good, but this Samurai Prince was intent on killing _something_ of Arai's, and as he couldn't afford staining his school uniform with blood, his choices were limited. Horio and the two other freshman who had taken to hanging out with Ryoma as well had sent a few concerned glances his way, but none of them dared to broach the subject they knew to be the root of Ryoma's ire. Sakuno wisely offered Ryoma a can of Ponta during lunch break, to which he accepted but didn't drink, and he could sense his fellow freshmen' increasing state of fear and worry when their green-haired classmate had not even touched the soda which they learned to be the one thing Ryoma would never refuse.

When classes ended and after-school practice came, Ryoma and the dubbed "freshman trio" headed to the locker room and then the courts, all the while keeping an eye out for Arai; the trio did because they really didn't want to see Arai get into a fight with Ryoma, while Ryoma did because he wanted to initiate it. Soon enough, Arai and his posse walked up to Ryoma halfway through the afternoon practice with smirks painted across their faces. Claiming they found the perfect racket for Ryoma, they tossed him a dusty old racket with strings that looked ready to break. Ryoma, under a false calm façade, allowed his right hand to mold itself around the grip, as if testing the feel of a new blade and not a racket, before heading to one end of the court with eyes shadowed by his cap, looking of all things as if he wished he held a blade instead so he could sink it into Arai's throat. The freshman trio sent weak requests for Ryoma to come back, but even they recognised that Arai and his friends had gone too far over something as small as rumours and social image. Arai walked to the other end of the court, entertained that this kid thought he could beat Arai with such a racket.

The first two tries resulted in a ball hitting the net and a ball sailing high before meeting the back fence without so much as a faint rattle. The shots were as pathetic as the racket, and Arai couldn't help a short burst of laughter, which was soon joined with the other's. Arai was quickly shut up, however, when Ryoma tapped his knuckles at the gut of the strings, humming a positive thought to himself, before turning back to face Arai, a confident expression set in place. "Are you ready, sempai?" This was asked lightly, implying that the freshman was simply waiting for Arai to serve, but Arai suddenly found himself the centre of attention of a pair of piercing eyes, with only him aware of the true message that lied underneath: are you ready to lose?

Ignoring the signs, Arai went on anyways, and decided to serve much faster and more powerful, just to ensure that the kid couldn't return it. As the ball spun towards the opposite side of the court, Ryoma's posture changed, this one much more coiled, and then his racket whipped out to meet the ball before scooping up slightly and then firing it back to Arai, where the second-year could only watch it bounce between his legs before meeting the back fence. That was a fluke, right? That couldn't have possibly just happened. The following three shots stated otherwise, and even when serving, Ryoma had somehow managed to ace Arai twice in a row, going so far as to knock aside a ball that had slipped out of Arai's shorts pocket. Arai realised that the internal warning bells that had gone off when he first approached Echizen Ryoma the other day were not unjustified, as Arai soon realised that if he didn't get his act together, he would be the laughingstock of the school. Kaidoh and Momoshiro had already winced at the image Arai was setting of Seigaku's second years, and an interested gleam had settled in Fuji's eyes when he said,

"A great painter never uses his paintbrush daintily."

No one questioned how Fuji would know a quote related to art and find a way to tie it into tennis, and they mentally spoke a silent prayer for the freshman that had unfortunately gained the attention of Tensai Fuji whose eyes had opened as the now one-sided Arai-Echizen match continued. Opposite of the pity spectrum and quite oblivious to the spelled-out doom for Echizen Ryoma now that Fuji had opened his eyes for the freshman, faint smiles were on the lips of Oishi and Coach Ryuzaki when they witnessed what Echizen could do from a room high up in the school building. Their smiles only widened when they saw that Tezuka had become drawn to the room's window as well. Despite quoting a rule that students weren't allowed to play matches until sophomore year, Coach Ryuzaki knew that Tezuka knew that as captain, he made the final decision in choosing participants of the Ranking Matches. Oishi didn't appear concerned that Tezuka wouldn't give the Echizen kid a chance in the tournament either when, instead of fretting, the vice-captain took Tezuka's statements in stride.

"What do you think, Tezuka?"

"I won't tolerate misconduct. Make everyone run laps."

"Even the regulars?"

"_Everyone._"

Among the participant names listed on the tournament papers, an _Echizen Ryoma_ was written out under Block D, along with a _Kaidoh Kaoru_ and an _Inui Sadaharu_.

* * *

The tennis courts were ablaze with gossip when on the first day of the Ranking Tournament, a freshman's name was written on the match board for the first time. The subject of much talk didn't appear the least affected except for a hidden smirk once in a while, as if amused and not scared like most freshmen would have felt. Horio, Kachirou, and Katsuo watched all of Ryoma's matches in excitement of a freshman representative playing for the regular's jersey, and a majority of the other first years of the tennis club did the same. Ryoma won all his matches with the final score of 6-0, and unleashed a few no-touch aces during his service play when his opponents were Arai's friends in a small act of revenge. Despite his relentlessness in deciding the final score, Ryoma was quite polite considering his apparently cocky nature; he allowed his opponents to send a few balls past him, and he courteously shook hands as well as congratulated his opponents —even Arai's friends — for a good game.

The match most were looking forward to, however, was the one between the Seigaku regular Kaidoh and the super freshman Ryoma. The latter appeared to look forward to it as well, if his inability to stay still before the fated match indicated anything. The freshman trio had to search for their classmate in order to describe Kaidoh's special move called the Snake, because Ryoma had disappeared in order to ease some of his restlessness. By the time they found Ryoma swinging a ball with backhands and forehands to one spot on a wall, the match was starting soon, and there was no time to tell him.

"Yo, Echizen. You the Viper's opponent?"

Momo's question made Ryoma trip in the middle of a footstep, but he caught himself just in time. Viper…the nickname made Ryoma's blood boil at the last memory he had of the Mist Arcobaleno. It would take much to get Ryoma to forgive Squalo — one whom Ryoma honestly thought he understood — for his betrayal in the Crib Affair, but Ryoma, under no circumstances, could forgive Mammon for what the illusionist had done to him. Momo, unaware of these inner thoughts, raised a brow at his kohai. Surely Echizen wouldn't be _that_ affected by a nickname, right? The freshman appeared to be the type who pretended nonchalance at even the most scary of labels, but Momo could have misjudged. "Sorry, I was referring to Kaidoh; that's his nickname around here. Are you afraid of snakes?" Momo thought it was a logical assumption. Ryoma just paused, his back to Momo, before resuming his walk towards the court benches, not deigning Momo's question with a response. After Ryoma set his bag on the bench, he took a sip from his water bottle, before capping it and setting it down. As he did so, he glanced at his three rackets in his unzipped bag, specifically his Shigure Gintoki.

_Sweat, flashes of steel, shouting. Indigo, a wall, blood. A left arm, useless—_

Ryoma grabbed his normal racket and stalked to the tennis net where his opponent awaited.

* * *

"Ne, Momo, what did you tell Echizen before his match with Kaidoh?" Kawamura asked the second year, and Momo bemusedly raised a brow as he and Kikumaru arrived at Court D to watch Ryoma and Kaidoh's match after finishing their own. A little out of place surrounded by mostly freshmen, Fuji was watching the Kaidoh-Echizen match as well, and the brunette looked over at Momo and Kikmaru's entrance. "Echizen's game has been off from the beginning," the triple counter tennis player updated the two. "I don't think he's even noticed Kaidoh's trap." At the dubbed Freshman Trio's perplexed faces, Momo explained how Kaidoh's Snake wasn't just for show, but for draining the opponent's stamina before Kaidoh could go in for the kill with a finishing shot, usually a Snake just for insurance that the opponent couldn't reach it.

"As for Echizen's behaviour, I think it's because I've discovered he's scared of snakes," Momo finished, to which several students gave him genuinely surprised expressions. Momo simply shrugged. Inui scribbled into his notebook, though no one knew how snakes could possibly affect predicting a match between the data expert and Ryoma. Meanwhile, no one noticed how Tezuka didn't appear at all convinced of Ryoma's supposed "fear." The captain's eyes narrowed slightly, as if staring at a complicated puzzle with too many missing pieces. When Fuji glanced over, he noticed just in time how Tezuka's brows lifted minutely in realisation. "Tezuka?" Fuji lightly called the attention of his captain, and Tezuka just continued observing the match before him, before Fuji realised the glasses-wearing third year was only watching Kaidoh's side of the court. Fuji did the same until coming to the same realisation. "Echizen's giving a lot of deep shots," he recognised, "but that's not all you're thinking about, is it?" Tezuka didn't look at Fuji.

"You're sweating a lot, Kaidoh-sempai."

Kaidoh narrowed his eyes at his opponent's attempted taunting, but otherwise ignored it and sent another Snake over the net. He had to concentrate; for reasons yet known to him, Kaidoh found himself receiving shots increasingly tougher to return. By this point, the freshman should have been feeling the effects of chasing continuous Snakes, but Echizen seemed to have gained power, if anything. What was happening? "Are you sure you don't want to take off your jacket?" Echizen's voice startled Kaidoh's thoughts, further irritating the second year. Kaidoh hissed at the indirect request for him to surrender his position as a Seigaku regular, and when he saw his chance, sent a finishing Snake, only for it to be rudely returned and earn Echizen another point. As Kaidoh moved in to swing at another low ball, his knees and lower muscles burned again, when realisation struck him. The freshman had tricked Kaidoh with his own tactics! Murmurs rose from their audience as word got around, and Kaidoh suddenly found himself having severely underestimated Echizen Ryoma.

"Ne, sempai. Your move is like a buggy whip shot, right?"

_Swish — pok!_

"What! Echizen knows the Snake!?"

No; while Kaidoh hadn't known of Echizen's scheme to drain him of stamina, Kaidoh knew for a fact that the Snake wasn't something that could be learned simply by seeing it in one match. His thoughts were confirmed when, at Kaidoh's shocked expression, Echizen revealed he had recently read about the buggy whip shot from a tennis article and had tried it out, but had not learned how to do it until their match. When the final ball passed Kaidoh, the umpire called it a game and match for Echizen. Said freshman approached the net to shake hands with Kaidoh, his actions void of any tension towards Kaidoh as they had been since the beginning of their match. While Kaidoh was aware Echizen was bothered by something when he walked into the court, the freshman had left it behind once their match had started; a very professional decision, but confusing none the less. Either way, Echizen had gone against Kaidoh teaching the "Viper" an important lesson relating to keeping up one's stamina and had patiently played the slow match out for that sole purpose. Kaidoh beat up his knees with his racket in anger at having lost his match and stamina so stupidly, but once he took a long, deep hiss, he properly faced Echizen and shook his hand for a good game. Inui met Kaidoh at the fence door.

"Apparently, Echizen is afraid of snakes."

Kaidoh didn't remember sensing anything like anger or fear in his match. He walked past Inui.

"Fsssh. It didn't seem like it."

"Momoshiro told me."

Kaidoh scoffed at the name of Inui's source. "Make sure to get your data right, sempai, because I'm not going to give up my regular's jacket."

"Are you so sure Echizen will beat me?"

It would have been contradictory to say that not all losses were truly defeats, but Kaidoh knew that the data expert couldn't understand how it was like to play against Echizen until one experienced it, so Kaidoh shared nothing except a hiss as he walked away. Inui gazed after the Viper with a small sigh. "Always so intense, that one…." He drifted off and then scribbled into his notebook. It was around the same time Ryoma passed Inui on his way to the locker room. "Momo-sempai said you're my next opponent for tomorrow," he commented, before smirking. "Please take care of me, sempai." Ryoma then disappeared around the corner. Inui sighed at that as well. "And this one's quite cheeky," he muttered to himself. The woes of being a sempai to eccentric underclassmen. Regardless, Inui had all the data he needed.

* * *

Sawada "Sena" Tsenayoshi was putting his little brother Tsuna to sleep when the phone rang. His intuition acting up, Sena told his mom he'd answer it, before picking up the phone after seeing a number he didn't recognise. Even though he was banned from participating in anything Vongola, it didn't mean Sena would ignore a possible, desperate plea for help from his mafia friends whose numbers never registered on the common house phone. "Sawada Residence," Sena tentatively greeted, waiting for a response to judge who was calling. A familiar voice spoke back, warming Sena's heart in hearing one of his childhood friends again. It was so lonely to be back home in the quiet streets of Namimori when one was accustomed to being surrounded by comrades back in Italy, and with his childhood friends' homes in different districts — and at an earlier point, in an entirely different country — Sena didn't get much opportunity to speak with them. The brunette smiled.

"Ryoma-kun," he identified, "it's been a while. I heard you're back from America? Of course, Riku told me; he likes to keep an eye on things. Not that I don't, but I have Tsuna to help my mom raise…." He was rambling, wasn't he? Sena could imagine Ryoma giving the phone a straight-faced look. His green-haired childhood friend had always been a straight-to-the-point, no-nonsense character, and Sena's tendency to give in to his meek nature often resulted in Ryoma determinedly instilling confidence into Sena, though sometimes Sena felt the confidence was borderline arrogance. Sena's memory stirred at a young Ryoma criticising some sempai who tried bullying him just because they were born a few years earlier. "Sena," the tennis player finally cut in, "I have a request." Sena's mild nature immediately vanished, and the brunette stood straighter at his friend's tone and words, Sena's eyes involuntarily narrowing. His grip on the phone tightened. "Anything," Sena replied, and he meant it. A pause over the phone indicated that Ryoma was grateful for Sena's support, before the tennis player continued.

"I need the opposite of Dying Will Mode pills."

For a second, Sena nearly dropped the phone. The pills were meant to draw out an individual's natural potential of wielding the Dying Will Flames, and thus far, only Sena's father, Sawada Iemitsu, and Sena himself had used the pills when they found themselves in dire situations and with too little energy to draw flames out from. Iemitsu's youngest and most recent student, Basil, had used the pills several times as well, but often fell exhausted afterwards since he wasn't physically and mentally used to it. What Ryoma was suggesting was something that suppressed the flame potential, and, depending on the intensity of the pills, could permanently damage Ryoma'a ability to call on the flames on his own. Last Sena knew, Ryoma had already mastered his flames before getting exiled; to possibly lose such a rare and valued ability stunned the brunette, especially as a flame-user himself. Nevertheless, his friend must have had a reason for it.

"Is this for tennis, Ryoma-kun?"

It was Ryoma's turn to be shocked, before this melted away for the comfort of having a reliable confidant. "You always speak as of you already know the answer," Ryoma responded warmly. It must be the Hyper Intuition again. It never ceased to impress him. "I've just known you for a long time. That's all." Sena's response elicited the twitch of an eyebrow. Hm. His friend still needed to get rid of that "meek, mild, and shy" attitude. That was not the reason for the call, however. Knowing Sena couldn't see him nod, Ryoma hummed in confirmation. "I don't want to unintentionally summon flames and possibly hurt anyone while playing tennis," he tried convincing his friend. It was not safety that was Ryoma's primary concern, however, but fair play in tennis. Like a chivalrous knight or samurai, Ryoma refused to play tennis with civilians when he had an advantage of years of working with assassins, spies, and hitmen over them; when Echizen Ryoma would play, it would be with the capabilities and potentials of a high-school freshman, and not an (exiled) elite mafia organisation member. Despite using a plausible reason like safety, which _was_ important, as a cover for Ryoma's real concern, Sena seemed to see through everything anyway when a sigh was heard over the phone.

"I'll see if I can make some," Sena agreed. "Just…take care of yourself, Ryoma-kun."

"Of course. Ciao."

"Ciao."

As he put the phone away, Sena wondered if he was having a hand in the permanent destruction of his friend by providing such pills. Deciding these were thoughts best not thought alone, Sena picked up the phone again and dialled another number. It rang a few times before someone answered.

"Hello?"

"Riku. Can we talk?"

* * *

**Eight Years Ago**

"You! Shrimp! Buy us some sweet bread!"

Six-year old Sena jumped at the sempais' orders, looking around himself before realising the children older than him had addressed him. Sawada Nana wanted her eldest to find a sport he loved and had thus enrolled young Sena in a tennis lesson. Now, with Sena's dad late in picking him up, and Sena's friend-slash-mentor Riku still finishing up American Football lessons at least a block away, no one could save Sena from yet another case of bullying. What had Riku said? Use running as an offence? Regardless, Sena couldn't bring himself to run past the bullies and steal their belts, causing the bullies' pants to fall down embarrassingly, which was what Riku appeared to do the most often when facing peers jealous of the Kaitani's speed. Sena tried negotiating, but his skills had much to envy.

"I can't do that, sempai-tachi."

"_Why?_"

Sena actually started to consider stealing the bullies' belts when it appeared the sempais were quite persistent in using Sena as a gopher. Sena would avoid embarrassing others if he could help it, but as the older brother of one very easily bullied Tsunayoshi aka Tsuna, Sena was the type to not allow others to walk on him either.

"I…don't have money." Well, he tried.

The biggest bully roughly seized Sena's shirt and lifted the short boy up off the ground. Sena's intuition then started acting up, warning him to put distance between the potential threat and himself; the only reason Sena had not done so before getting lifted from the ground was because he had sensed true danger wasn't going to get to him, but perhaps Sena's intuition was not as accurate as he thought. The bully's wingmen surrounded Sena, not to ensure that the boy couldn't escape if he managed to escape the big bully's grip, but because they wanted a chance to beat up the dishonest shrimp themselves. The bully holding Sena's collar raised a fist, and, ignoring his intuition, Sena tried freeing himself with a jerk at the hand holding his shirt and a few desperate kicks, when a blur of yellow hit the ground in front of the big bully and then shot up, nailing the bully's nose with a spiral action as if it was a giant yellow bullet. The bully cried out in surprise and pain, immediately dropping Sena. Some of the other bullies moved to grab Sena while others stared at their ring leader in shock, when all of them froze at the sight of their leader suddenly going down with a thud, cradling his profusely bleeding nose with pathetic whimpers. Even Sena was astonished at what had happened, and the frozen group of children could only stare as a tennis ball rolled off the big bully's face, before it slowed to a stop.

"It's called a Twist Serve."

The group started at the new voice, and they turned to see a boy who couldn't be any older than Sena standing confidently behind them, a red racket in his right hand. The boy had a challenging smirk on his face, but his flashing golden eyes contained no amusement. Gathering confidence that their opponent was just a kohai, the ring of bullies sans their leader stood up to their full height and returned cocky smirks of their own. Sena was left on the ground, temporarily forgotten in favour of the kid who dared challenge them.

"It looks like this brat's asking for us to teach him a lesson," one of the bullies laughed, and the others snickered and raised their fists. The newcomer didn't even blink at the number and size disadvantage; if anything, his eyes seemed to sharpen with the pleasure of potentially knocking the bullies down a few pegs. The boy fished out another tennis ball from his pocket and took a step back, raising his racket to meet the hand holding the ball as if ready to serve. His gaze was calculative, as if planning the course his next shot would make in order to take out the group of bullies with only one ball. The cap on the boy's head tilted to make his eyes peer out from under the brim, causing his stare to appear even more intense. The smirk on his lips twitched wider.

"Mada mada dane."

Seconds later, the bullies had fled the scene with bruises on their faces, and their once confident leader had been left behind to scramble after them pitifully with a still bleeding nose. The new boy walked up to Sena with his eyes still set on the bullies, the racket now over his shoulder in a relaxed manner. "I don't like it when people think they can bully just because they were born a few years earlier," he stated. Sena got up and nodded — not in agreement, because he was still surprised by the new boy's level of confidence few of his age had and was not thinking much of his savior's words, but to be polite. The boy's piercing gaze turned to Sena, and the brunette nearly took a step back at their cool intensity, subconsciously wondering if that was the gaze he'd get whenever he summoned the full of his intuition that he once heard his father call "Vongola intuition," though Sena had yet to know what to make of the name. "You." Sena blinked at the boy's statement. The brunette bowed once. "My name is Sawada Tsenayoshi, though Sena for short. Thanks for saving me." "I'm not asking for your name," the boy's eyes sharpened further in irritation. "I wanted to tell you that you should fight back when others start bullying you." Sena stared at the taller boy in shock; had he looked that pathetic that someone of his own age would berate him for it?

"Hey! Get away from Sena!"

Oh no. Riku was the fastest person Sena knew besides Sena himself, but while Sena was mostly passive, Riku was the kind who took action, and judging from the way that Sena looked roughed up and the new boy was firmly looking down at Sena, Riku could have mistaken Sena's saviour for a bully. Before Sena could warn Riku not to fight, the white-haired kid was already in action, and had put himself between Sena and the new boy in the blink of an eye. The new boy's eyes widened, before there was the sound of a few hits, and Sena turned around just in time to see Riku and the new boy in a lock, meeting each other's glares evenly. Riku's arm was caught up with the new boy's racket; Riku's punch was met with a hand; and even Riku's leg attack meant to knock his opponent off-balance had been smoothly avoided with now Riku in danger of tipping over instead. For a moment, Sena saw a look of begrudging respect in the two boys' eyes.

"You're pretty good." "Hn. You too."

After a quick explanation from Sena and easing the two boys away from each other, the new boy, Echizen Ryoma, had earned himself the secret title of Riku's equal, though Riku would never admit to such in his lifetime. Sena, however, knew what his white-haired friend thought of Ryoma due to Sena's hyper intuition, and smiled slightly at the prospect of a good friend, both for Sena and Riku. Their bickering, though, Sena felt he could do without.

"Sena can take care of himself so long as he utilises his running." "No, you should always face bullies in the beginning." "I know Sena better." "I know _real life_ better." "You're just a pussy! You even resemble a cat!" "Who am I to listen to an albino!" "I don't even have red eyes!" "So you admit to having hair that could get you mistaken for an old man?" "You…pussycat!" "What did you call me?" "You heard me, _Puss!_" "_Albino!_"

Sena could see the budding of a great friendship.

"So, Ryoma-kun, judging by your accent, I'm wondering what you are doing in Japan if you're from America?" Ryoma blinked at the question, temporarily distracted from arguing with Riku. His accent wasn't detectable by most, but for this brunette to notice must have meant that the kid, while a target for bullies, was sharp. "I'm actually three-fourths Japanese; I'm visiting some Japanese cousins during my summer vacation from school." Riku adopted a surprised expression. "So you've grown up in America?" Ryoma nodded. Sena hummed in awe, and Riku glanced at Ryoma's tennis bag sitting aside where the tennis player had dropped it to hit a twist serve. "You must like tennis a lot," Riku commented. If there was one thing Riku could respect besides being able to stop him and his speed, it was a devoted athlete. Sena looked at his new friend. "Ryoma-kun. Why do you play tennis?" Ryoma placed his racket back on his shoulder, a genuine smile on his lips, and replied. At his answer, Sena and Riku couldn't help but give a small smile at the green-haired boy's pure reason.

* * *

**A/N: Ah, I'm evil for not sharing Ryoma's answer. XD Sena and Riku are introduced for the first time, and we get some insight in Ryoma's past relating to Varia. Why is Sena Sawada and not Kobayakawa? You will find out…later. ;P Once again, I hope none of my characters were too OOC. **

**There will be no pairings.**** I **_**will**_** take requests, but I will not always add/hint to them in the storyline unless I find it interesting or unavoidable. I.e. Momoshiro Takeshi and Tachibana Ann's as well as Echizen Ryoma and Ryuzaki Sakuno's interactions with each other in the manga/anime can't help but be seen as romantic sometimes, so in order not to veer too much from character, I may have to do the same. It doesn't mean I support the pairing — simply that I recognise it's (sorta) present in canon. I can make the relationships strictly friendship, which I planned to do in the beginning anyways, but any romantic hints are not to be taken seriously unless I say so in an Author's Note. **

**Thanks for reading, and please leave a comment — they motivate me to update! ;P**

Edited: 6/14/2013

* Middle school-related terms are replaced with high school ones.


	4. Ch 3: Up to the District Preliminaries

**Chapter Three**

**Up to the District Preliminaries**

* * *

Inui saw the stark difference between watching Echizen play, and watching Echizen while playing him. The third-year felt safe with his data — yup, that forehand was expected — but Inui found it odd when Echizen would twitch as if his mind was struggling to catch up with his body, or as if his body couldn't keep up with his mind. It was never just one of the two, and Inui couldn't help but feel as if Echizen was relearning tennis. The freshman appeared to have small urges to react differently to Inui's movements and the ball's path, but Inui could see no better alternative to hitting the ball than what routes Echizen would send the ball to take, except for the fact that Inui was always there to catch it. Inui wouldn't have noticed these twitches if he wasn't watching out for the low-percentage shots, just in case. Echizen was also aware of Inui moving before the freshman even hit the ball, and Inui knew Echizen knew that Inui knew Echizen chalked it up to predictability — rather, Inui's ability to predict Echizen's shots. It was accurate enough, but the longer their match wore on, the more Echizen's eyes glittered from analysis to realisation. For those oblivious to Inui's background as a data expert, most would believe Inui's movements as coincidence; others as a natural talent for reading an opponent in action; and Echizen….

Echizen realised it was Inui's ability to recall data.

Few minds could do the same as Inui while in action, and even Fuji confessed that collecting, organising, and recalling data was a bit beyond him when it came to tennis, but the genius had his own, natural way of playing that suited him best. In fact, the only tennis players who probably had the potential to do as Inui did preferred their own, more natural styles, with Yanagi Renji being an exception. What had given Inui away? He had pauses in his movements, yes, but everyone went through that when planning courses of action in the split-second that came before the ball returned. Perhaps it was because Inui was too still — too completative — in his pauses. Inui forced Echizen to use his left hand just to keep up, true, but to a natural athlete like Echizen, Inui's small pauses must have looked unnatural, almost robotic. Inui looked like the maybe-more-than-averagely careful tennis player, and that was what gave him away. Because a regular was never careful of losing. Not a prideful sempai like Inui.

Echizen took it a step farther. Instead of simply calling Inui on the act, the freshman risked another two games before finding what he sought. As Inui and Echizen switched sides of the court, the freshman asked lowly, "After our match, will you let me look at your notebook?" Not only had the rookie realised Inui relied on data — a hypothesis that most would dismiss once conceived, as it sounded too hard for anyone to mentally do — but found the treasure trove of such data. Kikumaru, Oishi, Kawamura, and Momo confessed they expected Inui to carry a computer around to sort through such data, and not the flimsy notebook Inui used in reality. That was all he needed, simply put; the true computer was in his head. "Of course not," Inui denied Echizen, who didn't seem let down at all.

Finding the root of Inui's play, Echizen seemed to mentally go through a list of options, before settling on the one that would cause Inui the most problems, while leaving Echizen with the simple task of…conducting a split-step. With one foot. Was the kid _designed_ for tennis? Few could anticipate opponent's shots and guess correctly, much less a freshman whose twitches still left Inui with the aftertaste of playing against someone relearning tennis. It was when Echizen started announcing his next moves that Inui finally pulled himself together to not only recall data in the match, but to also mentally record Echizen's current actions and make use of them at the same time.

A ball shot past Inui just out of racket's reach, then another ball, and another. The game scores evened out faster than Inui realised, and 6-5 seemed to appear in the blink of an eye. "There's another kind of shot you can predict but can't reach," Echizen took the ball in his hand to his racket in preparation for a serve, before shooting his gaze across the net to Inui, the centre of his attention, "Inui-sempai." Somehow, the addressment made the statement personal, instead of an array of words used to make a show for the big audience with the cocky freshman the star. Ah, the racket moved to the right hand, but what for? The older data came too late — Inui barely had time to shift the centre of his body mass before the ball shot up past his face to drill into the fence behind and eventually fall to the ground. Twist Serve. Inui had almost forgotten about the infamous move that gave even Momoshiro difficulty. Theoretically, the ball could be returned by hitting quickly after the ball bounced off the ground so long as the appropriate power and spin was applied, but in reality, Inui hardly had the experience facing such tricky shots and the necessary data to fall back on. The latter could be fixed; it was the body's reaction time and strength that Inui's type had to focus more effort in.

When the match ended with 7-5, a panting Inui and a sweaty Echizen met at the net, where they shook hands for a good game. "Like any regular, I dislike losing, but now I have more data," Inui's glasses glinted with eagerness to organise what new statistics he discovered of Echizen that match. Said freshman stared at his sempai, obviously annoyed by the data tennis, however effective it was. "With your intelligence, you could almost rule the yakuza," Echizen stated bluntly. Inui allowed a relaxed, amused smile. "Ah, but this is tennis." Echizen frowned. "Yes…I suppose it is," he admitted, as if having forgotten where they were. When their hands parted, Inui asked after his kohai in recollection of Echizen's words. "What do you mean by 'almost?'" Inui queried. Echizen sent him an amused smile. "You lack the conviction." Inui could believe that. After all, he participated in physical training only for the sake of being able to reach all places of the court in an appropriate length of time; with crazies like Echizen running about, Inui realised he would need more than the minimum to truly play tennis. "Don't worry," Inui replied, "I think I've found mine." Echizen chuckled; the first time Inui had heard anything denoting something besides boredom or cockiness from the freshman. Echizen was…anticipative at Inui's quiet determination. Anticipative _of_ what, that was left open for Inui to interpret, but Inui smiled along anyway. In the corner of his eyes, the data player saw Kaidoh watching. Ah, the Viper had expected this. Inui glanced at Echizen's back, musing over the freshman's ability to help his opponents raise themselves higher while defeating them.

* * *

Two Seigaku regular jerseys rustled in the wind as Momo biked, with Ryoma riding at the back. "If we live on the same block, I can pick you up from your house to go to school too!" Momo shouted over his shoulder against the wind, and Ryoma hummed in thought. "It would be more convenient," he agreed. Momo laughed instead of being offended, as most would feel having been tasked with bringing a schoolmate to and from school. The second year had a bright, friendly atmosphere he seemed to carry with him everywhere, and Ryoma allowed himself to feel comfortable in the optimist's presence. As they neared their block, Momo slowed down just enough so that the wind softened to a caressing breeze. "Where is your house?" Momo asked, and Ryoma straightened up and looked over his sempai's shoulders. "Ah, it's just over—" Ryoma choked at the sight of white at his front door steps. Kaitani Riku sat relaxed on them, one elbow back on one step higher than the one he sat, the other free arm content with petting a sleeping Karupin. Ryoma stared at his childhood rival and friend, all soft lines and serenity in the domestic-ness, the perfect picture of peace. The white-haired male was smiling as if to a child, and Ryoma felt a growing burning in his eyes before he realised he was about to cry. Willing the tears away, Ryoma continued to stare at Riku as the view of the boy became clearer, the subject of Ryoma's focus completely oblivious to the pair of golden eyes on him. Ryoma couldn't tear his eyes from the private sight; this was Riku when the world wasn't looking.

"Can't find your house, Echizen?" Momo's voice startled Ryoma, who was caught up staring at something that Ryoma suddenly felt guilty in having seen, as it looked so personal. He cleared his throat, surprised he nearly cried in seeing his rival and friend happy. Did the vision of his friends living with pure, innocent peace affect him _this_ _much?_ When was the last time all three of them laughed from the bottom of their hearts? As the two Seigaku regulars neared Ryoma's house, the freshman opened his mouth. "Just keep going, Momo-sempai. You can drop me off at that corner, and I'll walk. My home's really near from there." They zipped past Ryoma's house, Riku oblivious to the pair and the temporary heartache he caused his childhood rival and friend. After Momo obliged to Ryoma's request, it was with the promise of paying with burgers for Momo's newfound duty to give Ryoma rides that the freshman watched his sempai disappear down the street before turning to head home.

When Ryoma got to his home's front gate, Riku was sitting on the front door steps with his elbows on his knees as if having been like that the entire time waiting for Ryoma. Karupin had disappeared, most likely having gone into the house when Riku no doubt moved after sensing Ryoma approaching the Echizen's new home. Any traces of softness or smiles had been entirely wiped away, and Ryoma bet that Riku didn't even know the white-haired boy could make such vulnerable things vanish so completely. Riku was always so naturally cool-headed even when a fiery anger would rage underneath, and very little stopped him from taking action where he saw it fit. The customary almost-frown that could be taken as either thoughtful or displeased sat on Riku's lips, as was normal. The peaceful Riku was gone; the Riku that Ryoma knew well was back. As usual, the white-haired boy exuded an air of rugged, almost wild power tamed only by an icy cool will. Ryoma greeted his rival with a smirk, revealing no evidence of what he had seen earlier.

"Have you been missing me, albino?" Riku stood up from the steps and gave a smirk of his own — another familiar sight for Ryoma, and he relaxed marginally. "I've been enjoying my time away from your arrogance, Puss," Riku replied, and from the slight tilt of his smirk, Ryoma knew his rival to be laughing inside. The two sighed, having not seen each other in a long time. They didn't hug, however. They never did. Riku's smirk finally fell back to the frown, but what got Ryoma's attention was when Riku's lips thinned, and the wild air around Riku stirred for a moment. The crickets jittered and a bird nearby flutter nervously from one branch to another, but only Ryoma was unaffected, coolly meeting Riku's electric green eyes with his own molten golden pair. The stirring halted, and Riku's presence hung there, as if waiting. Riku was the first to speak. "Sena called me to talk about you." Ryoma said nothing. He wasn't surprised Sena had. "Why do you feel like you'll need those pills when playing tennis? What do you get out of it?" Riku went straight to the point, and Ryoma felt almost grateful at that, as beating around the bush was stupid and a waste of both of their time.

"I don't know if you haven't thought about it," Ryoma finally spoke, "but take into consideration that the reason I want to play tennis fairly is _to play tennis fairly._" Riku looked like he wanted to say something, and the air stirred again, before Ryoma responded with a warning look. Riku backed off, and, as if reflecting this, a gust of wind blew towards Ryoma, but wavered and died off before reaching him. "Don't look at me like I'm a bad guy," Riku admonished, electric eyes gone steely. "I'm just worrying about your health — shocking, but it's true." Ryoma put his right hand on his left arm before he realised what he was doing, and quickly returned his hand to his side. Riku pretended he didn't see this, and Ryoma was warmly reminded how the two were also childhood friends who had been through thick and thin together. "I know," Ryoma finally breathed, and Riku's usually collected face was marred by brows knitted in worry, and Riku's frown turned a touch concerned. The white-haired boy placed a hand on Ryoma's shoulder, as if to steady him.

"I want to play tennis," Ryoma said. Riku nodded, understanding. "The tournaments in America weren't enough?" he asked, just in case, but the white-haired boy already knew the answer. "I want to keep playing tennis," Ryoma replied, before biting his lip. "I love it." Riku stared at the young Echizen a bit longer before returning his hand to his side. "Okay," Riku said, but Ryoma didn't know what emotions he should have looked for in those two syllables, as the white-haired boy breezed over it. Electric eyes left gold, and Riku's gaze wandered off. His lips moved, but he didn't repeat the word aloud. _Okay._ When Riku looked at Ryoma again, the wild power he seemed to exude made itself known again, and Ryoma was reminded of the fighter side of Riku, and not just the healer side who mended Ryoma together after he conducted his occasional bouts of foolish bravery or of one-upping Squalo. But that was long ago. Riku held out something he took from his pocket.

"Reverse Dying Will Mode pills — Reverse Mode pills for short; one pill lasts two hours," Riku introduced, and Ryoma accepted the tic-tac-like box containing pink Mentos-esque pills, along with a bigger plastic box no doubt containing more so he could refill the tic-tac box when needed. "Don't ask how we got them; Sena had to call in several non-Vongola-related favours, but you never know when Vongola might decide to hound us for creating something similar to what only the head of CEDEF officially owns," Riku warned, and Ryoma nodded in understanding. Already dissecting what he knew, Ryoma asked, "How many did you get of these to be produced?" An amused smirk flickered on Riku's face for a beat. "In order to avoid suspicion, large orders for the ingredients were sent out. If it was between the three of us, we would have enough to last us three years." Ryoma coughed in a failed attempt to hide a snicker, and Riku playfully cuffed him up the ear. "You're the reason this happened in the first place," he reminded lightly, "and you better not run out of these so quickly, or Sena and I will think you're addicted to them or something." Ryoma promised not to. As Riku headed for the gate, he informed, "Whenever you run out of pills from the plastic box, tell me or Sena, and we can deliver more to you." Ryoma raised a brow. "What, you expect that box to contain several years' worth of pills? I don't think so," Riku replied at the silent question, entertained, and finally disappeared. Ryoma stared after Riku's last seen location before proceeding to lock the gate.

* * *

"Red!" "Are your sure it's not blue, Kikumaru?" "Huh? Not fair, Inui! It _was_ red!"

The Seigaku regulars were hitting coloured balls to matching cones with weights strapped to their ankles, and Inui — as their new training expert— tossing the balls to them. They soon began feeling the effects of the weights, and their accuracy rates gradually dropped. Filing the data away in his head and already planning future training menus for the group, Inui made another mental note, specifically of one of the regulars: Echizen's twitches had smoothed out, and now his mind and body were at a synched understanding. Inui wondered on the change, but supposed the freshman had undergone a sort of recent, personal training to produce such effects. He didn't know that Reverse Mode pills had brought Ryoma's mind and body to a level that dampened his mafioso instincts. Loud gasps for air alerted Inui that it was soon time to bring out an incentive for the regulars to keep going. Rounding up all Seigaku tennis members for laps around the tennis courts, Inui explained that those who failed to finish the final lap first would have to face punishment. Here, Inui's smile and glasses took on a disturbing edge.

"It's called Penal Tea…."

As expected, the beverage improved the regulars' speed and stamina considerably, and the District Preliminaries were a breeze except for the one hiccup regarding Momo and Echizen's odd insistence of playing doubles against Gyokurin's own doubles pair. Seigaku won all their matches, of course, but Coach Ryuzaki was so irritated by the almost failure Momo and Echizen gave the team that, despite winning their match the two regulars were forced to sit in time-out at the side of the Seigaku benches, and Echizen was put into reserve for the next few days. Momo and Echizen complained that the pain from getting their cheeks pinched by Coach lasted for a week. Inui just knew not to offer any of his drinks to the coach lest he suffer as well.

Fudomine was a surprise, as the entire team, as well as the coach, were replaced by seven players, with the captain as a player-coach. Having won against all teams, even the seeded ones, with 5 wins and 0 losses so far like Seigaku did, Inui knew they were to watch out for, as he had no data to refer from, and Fudomine's players were entirely new faces to him. Marking fresh pages for each team member, Inui noted which hands they favoured, their general attitudes, and how one of the Fudomine players was bouncing a ball on the edge of the racket head without looking. Of course, as Fudomine passed, Echizen was on a nearby bench drinking Ponta, doing the same except with his eyes closed. Cheeky brat. Inui scribbled more data about Echizen into his notebook.

All amusement evaporated when, just on the first match between Seigaku and Fudomine, the latter's Ishida Tetsu pulled out a power move called Hadoukkyu. Taka successfully returned the shot, shocking Fudomine's members, and Ishida appeared the most affected when the ball broke through his racket, revealing Taka's greater strength. Fuji forfeited the match, however, when he discovered Taka's wrist to be injured, and after easing the racket out of Taka's hands, a concerned Fuji and a meeker Taka disappeared for the hospital. The first match was always important, and it was a hard blow for Seigaku to lose it to an unseeded school, but this only reinforced how strong the reborn Fudomine was. Eiji seemed pumped up, if his twirling the racket around his wrist was anything to go by, and Oishi adjusted to his partner's more serious attitude towards the match with a smile on the vice-captain's face. Fudomine's second doubles pair stood no chance against the acrobatic and adaptable Eiji and Oishi, even with the short drizzle of rain that swept by, and Seigaku seemed to regain its footing.

"Boomerang Snake!"

That had a nice ring to it, and Inui quickly jotted down more data into his notebook, as well as future training Kaidoh could use to be able to recreate the move, but the lucky shot didn't deter the speed demon Kamio who was in the rhythm when it became obvious that Kaidoh had no experience with Boomerang Snake. Kaidoh's special moves were less effective due to the rainwater left behind — as the ball became denser after absorbing water — and the match drew out when Kamio and Kaidoh met with 6-6, but Inui had faith in the Viper's stamina. After all, amongst the entire Seigaku club including the regulars, Kaidoh had the most demanding training outside the courts — three times the normal practice load. Inui allowed an almost evil smile at the non-regulars' comments as the match between Kaidoh and Kamio went on.

"I-I'd rather die than p-play against Kaidoh."

Eventually, the Viper won, and Inui approached him about a new training schedule. "It's dangerous helping a rival in the Ranking Tournament." "As long as I have my data, I will win." No one noticed Inui and Kaidoh's short exchange, for all eyes had turned to the team rookie as Echizen stepped on the court to face Fudomine's Ibu Shinji. Echizen must have seen something in Shinji when the freshman started off with a Twist Serve, shocking Fudomine's team to jump up in their seats, before quickly sitting down when they realised what they were doing. At 40-love, Shinji surprisingly returned the serve by moving towards it, but Echizen was already at the net to volley it at an impossible angle with the help of his split-step. And, just to mess with his opponent, the rookie announced, "I'm in the rhythm." Ah, well, even Inui had to agree it was worth the looks on Fudomine's faces.

Shinji did not beat the region's top players for nothing, however, and with the same psychological techniques Echizen seemed to favour in order to rouse up the crowd and manipulate the opponent, he delivered a Kick Serve, which was similar enough to the Twist Serve that a ripple of murmurs passed through Seigaku. If anything, Echizen's smirk gained a challenging edge, and his eyes burned with a golden fire. Shinji wasn't affected by his successful Kick Serve either, when the quiet boy stared across the net and informed Echizen that he knew the rookie was hiding something more dangerous. For Shinji to notice so quickly surprised Inui into the notion that the Fudomine player might even be at Fuji's level, but a roar from the crowd distracted Inui from those thoughts when Echizen courteously responded to Shinji's observation by tossing his racket in the air and catching it with his left hand.

The match flowed in Echizen's favour as it rose from 1-0 to 4-0 in seemingly the blink of an eye, but it was in the shortest of moments that such advantageous situations could turn for the worst. Inui noticed Echizen's hesitation that cost him one point before any of the regulars did, as Inui recognised the robotic pause he would make himself, but Fuji's comment on Shinji giving alternating spins informed Inui of Echizen's issue. Quick to tell the others, everyone soon realised that Shinji was taking advantage of the freeze of certain muscles in a second called Spot, and when the game count started rising on Shinji's side, everyone realised that Spot was harder to combat than they thought. Determination never left Echizen's eyes, however, and with a spin, he aimed to push through Spot and return the ball. It was too late that everyone realised that Echizen's racket was flying for the net pole, and a broken racket was returning just as quickly…. Horrified gasps arose, and Coach Ryuzaki's granddaughter quickly ran for the court to offer Echizen a handkerchief.

"Stay off the court, Ryuzaki!"

Echizen's loud bark startled everyone, even making several jump at the intensity, and Coach hurriedly stood up and requested her shocked granddaughter to go back to the stands. A kneeling Echizen with a hand on his left eye and the other held out at Ryuzaki Sakuno to stay away was what Coach came to, and, doing her best to ignore the blood quickly pooling at Echizen's feet and running down his hand, called a time-out and murmured something to Echizen, never touching him to calm him down or help him up. When Coach looked ready to kneel and check Echizen's wound, the freshman stood up with the air of a soldier and defiantly looked at her straight in the eye. His mouth opened as if about to say something — maybe even an order, which would have definitely made Echizen look impolite and downright rude — but Coach Ryuzaki whispered something furiously at him and pointed at the regulars at the bench, startling them in becoming a subject of attention. Echizen's blazing golden eye slid from Coach to the regulars, and he pursed his lips. Nodding, he followed Coach to the bench, where Oishi coaxed Echizen's hand away from his eye to reveal a nasty cut above the eyelid.

This didn't look too good.

* * *

Ryoma was forced to stare at Oishi's shirt as the vice-captain tried to stop the bleeding with the firm order with a medic's voice to not move his eyes lest the bleeding worsens. Ryoma didn't like how everyone's eyes seemed to be on him, and in his peripheral vision, he could see Oishi tossing the thirteenth bloody tissue in the trash. The cut was bleeding a lot, but it wasn't anything major, and Ryoma could feel that his eye was perfectly fine. No one seemed to share his point of view, as Kikumaru said, with thin lips, "You don't have to finish the match, Ochibi." Ryoma jerked to look his way, but Oishi made a sound that reminded him to face forward. Ryoma's attention was still on his sempai-tachi. "I want to keep playing," he stated, distantly reminded of similar words leaving his mouth the last time he saw Riku. "You're injured, Echizen," Momo pointed out. "Don't be a fool." Ryoma wanted to retort, but when he glanced at the faces of his fellow regulars, he realised he wasn't the only one who wanted to continue. His sempai-tachi really wanted to win — they were really looking forward to the Nationals. Ryoma…just wanted to play tennis, and was risking their dream for his satisfaction. Ryoma's fists unclenched from the hem of his shorts before he realised he had been fisting them.

"Echizen-san," the referee approached, "I cannot allow you to play if the bleeding won't stop." Ryoma frowned and used his wrist to wipe his cut. "I can play," he stated firmly. Coach Ryuzaki cut in. "Ryoma!" she called, and he obediently looked at her, Oishi silent when it was the coach requesting Ryoma's attention. The swordsman liked the coach; she could be loud for an old woman, got to the point, and didn't let anyone or anything get in her way when she made a decision. She was like a commanding officer, except she dealt with immature athlete boys who were sometimes too smart or powerful for their own good — a domestic version of the mafia. Ryoma inwardly grinned at the comparison. "Do you still want to go on?" At the question, Ryoma nodded with a determined, "Hai." The coach then got up and waved Oishi away, before applying a bandage as well as other medical materials from the first aid kit on Ryoma's cut and soon stopped the bleeding. "Ten minutes," a low, commanding voice stated, and Ryoma looked up to meet the steely gaze of his captain. Ryoma smirked. "Ten is all I need, Buchou." Momo, who recognised the determined air around Ryoma the easiest, handed Ryoma's spare racket over. "No need to be flashy, Echizen. But _do_ remember to kick butt." Ryoma smirked at his neighbor's impish grin.

"Mada mada dane."

* * *

**Five Years Ago**

Somewhere in the city streets of Japan, a nine-year-old Ryoma was hitting a tennis ball rapidly against a concrete wall with a racket in his right hand, always aiming at one spot on the wall and leaving scuff marks never more than a centimetre away from the centre of the spot. He would continuously alternate between forehand and backhand swings while never falling from his rapid pace, obviously getting a thorough exercise. Ryoma was already panting, and a light sheen of sweat had already covered his body, but he still kept at it with an outward level of calmness as if he just started, despite having begun long ago. The power, speed, and intensity of the scene would scare many and amaze all, but at the moment, Ryoma was the only soul in the area under a train bridge. A nearby university had plans to build a few tennis courts there, but it had yet to act on them, so the green-haired boy was left in peace with his thoughts.

The day before, he discovered his brunette best friend had the mafia equivalent of royal blood, and instead of aiming to be the next boss, wanted to become head of the external advisor unit instead, which was almost equally high in the famiglia ranks. Ryoma had a choice to follow his friend to Italy—a friend who was like family to him ever since the painful vanishing act Ryoga pulled on his "chibisuke"—or to continue living his peaceful life in America. Whether the place under the train bridge would have been busy or not, it wouldn't have mattered, as Ryoma was completely absorbed in his exercise, obviously a devoted athlete, and inwardly a concerned friend torn between decisions. It was due to this that he was oblivious to a pair of young men walking down a sidewalk on the bridge.

One man was slightly shorter than the other, and had short, wavy blonde hair that would send any girl swooning. The taller man had short silver hair, as well as an irritated expression on his face as the blonde appeared determined to shatter any chances of silence with his incessant talking. "Are you still planning to absorb more sword styles, Squalo? You already defeated so many swordsmen!" "Shut up, Cavallone." "–battle at the Great Wall of China was very epic, but you shouldn't skip mafia school just for that, you know." "Just because we're classmates doesn't mean I want to be your friend." "– still going to keep moving east? Will there still be sword styles to defeat? Does going to America count as moving east?" "Dino. Cavallone." "Yes?" "**Shut up.**" As they walked, rapid sounds caught the attention of the blonde, Dino, and he paused to look down to search for the origin. The other man, Squalo, noticed Dino's sudden awe and looked as well in curiosity, before being met with an impressive sight.

"His cuts are good."

Dino glanced at Squalo in further surprise. "Cuts? But he's not using a sword! That looks like a raquet for badminton, or…." "It's a tennis racket, stupid," Squalo scoffed, "and with a sword or without, good cuts are good cuts." Dino whined at being wrong before waving Squalo's _why-am-I-talking-to-an-idiot_ tone away, transfixed on the athlete. Squalo had not turned his eyes away from Ryoma either, even while he was correcting his blonde classmate. Ryoma suddenly hit an especially strong shot, where the ball bounced off the wall and flew straight for his face. The green-haired boy expertly intercepted it with his racket and forced the ball down, and the ball returned from the ground in an even greater speed and ferocity before a hand stopped it in its path. The young athlete stood there, panting, as the ball's spinning slowed to a stop in his hand. Dino widened his eyes and felt his jaw drop in amazement. Ryoma, still oblivious to his small audience, stared at the spot on the wall he had been hitting for a moment longer before he turned away and rested his racket on his shoulder, heading for a water fountain close by. As he turned, he spotted Squalo, and was made aware of Dino via peripheral vision. The two young men in turn started in surprise at being noticed staring, Squalo not as outwardly obvious about it as Dino, but the silverette was inwardly startled in having found himself watching someone else and getting caught during the act.

Squalo froze at the boy's eyes on him, before abruptly looking away in hidden embarrassment and determinedly heading down the sidewalk, leaving his blonde classmate behind. Ryoma gazed after Squalo in confusion for a second longer and then didn't think much of it as he simply continued towards a water fountain. Dino, now left alone, switched focuses between Squalo and Ryoma, torn between who to follow. Deciding on his companion, he called out, "Squalo!" before a fedora-wearing baby kicked the blonde in the head, sending the Cavallone face-first into the sidewalk. "You didn't have to hit me, Reborn! How did you come back from some meeting with the Vongola Nono so soon, anyway?" the blonde shot up to nurse his head in irritation, but the baby simply pointed a green gun at him. "I'm the world's best hitman," the baby stated, as if that explained everything. "A mafia boss should always be ready for anything, my pathetic student. Now get up; we have training to do."

Dino groaned.

* * *

It shouldn't have been this hard.

Superbi Squalo had swept through as many places as Italy, Persia, India, and China in order to absorb and defeat any and all blade specialists and sword styles simply for satisfying his blood lust, but for some reason, now that Squalo and arrived in Japan — the birthplace of the samurai — he couldn't find a single swordsman anywhere. The only swords-related people he knew for a fact resided in Japan were the Yamamotos with their forever-developing sword style that no one exactly knew how it worked, except the surname had become so common as generations passed, Squalo couldn't assume that anyone he met whose last name was Yamamoto was actually a swordsman. Dino Cavallone, a fellow classmate of a prestigious mafia school he and Squalo attended, had been quite persistent in tagging along with Squalo in his travel to Japan for some reason; the most Squalo got out of the Cavallone's constant talking was that Dino was trying to get as far from his private (demon) tutor as possible while said tutor was in a meeting with an important boss. Lussuria, an annoying, energetic Muay Thai expert from the same school, was usually the one who followed Squalo around claiming he wanted to tape as many of Squalo's "beautiful" battles as possible, but a recent job offer from Varia had finally gotten the martial artist off of Squalo's tail, just in time for Squalo to gain another annoying, energetic, and unwanted traveling companion. Why did he attract sunny, talkative trashes like Lussuria and Dino Cavallone!?

The sound of something quickly approaching broke Squalo out of his thoughts, and the silverette turned just in time from the middle of his walking down a mostly deserted street to catch a yellow blur. Squalo inwardly winced at whatever was drilling harshly into his palm, before lowering his hand and bringing the offending object to his sight to realise that what had nearly given him a concussion was a tennis ball. A shadow stretched itself before Squalo, and he looked to the origin to be met with the sight of young Ryoma, the boy Squalo saw earlier, climbing a fence with a racket in one hand. Once he was over the fence, Ryoma landed on his feet and stood up to meet the eyes of the taller man before him. He swung his racket over his shoulder to let it rest there, apparently confident and relaxed even in an adult's presence, which was especially impressive considering that Squalo tended to frighten most mafiosi twice his age.

"Accident. Sorry. I was trying to make a smash like a Twist Serve…you don't want to know the details. May I have the ball back?"

When Ryoma held put his hand, Squalo blinked in surprise before realising he had been staring at the kid, and released a short breath in irritation with himself. The silverette turned to properly face Ryoma as he brought up his arm to drop the tennis ball he caught into the kid's hand, and Ryoma's eyes immediately noticed the sword hanging on Squalo's side, which had been hidden earlier when Squalo wasn't facing him. The ball fell into Ryoma's hand, and Squalo allowed his fingers to rest on the hilt of his sword as a smile grew on the silverette's face. Traumatising kids with the sight of weaponry never ceased to be entertaining. "What do you think?" he asked, waiting for an amusing reaction. Ryoma slipped the ball into his pocket with a bored look on his face.

"I've seen better."

That…was not what Squalo was expecting. In fact, the silverette felt his admittedly short temper rise up at the indirect insult to his sword, and he subconsciously placed his hand on the sword as if about to unsheathe it, looking all the more threatening. "What did you say?" Squalo growled, and appearing increasingly amused, Ryoma gave a smirk. "Did I stutter?" Before Ryoma could blink, Squalo's sword was already drawn and coming at him. One could only imagine Squalo's shock when, instead of the kid who insulted him lying on the ground in pieces, a racket intercepted Squalo's sword, and a burning gaze behind it glared at Squalo with an overwhelming intensity. The sword and racket trembled as equally frightening amounts of pressure were applied, yet neither side was budging, and Squalo felt a growing anger and respect for the kid before him. "I'm going to cut you up until there's nothing left." Ryoma just laughed, surprising his opponent, before his gaze turned completely serious.

"Mada mada dane."

The fight lasted longer than either side expected. Squalo was planning to finish the Japanese brat in one more attack, while Ryoma was hoping to do the same, but both males soon realised they couldn't treat the fight lightly. Revealing the sword version of his transforming sword, Ryoma dove in with a fiercer battle spirit, fully confident in the Shigure Soen Ryu his grandfather had taught him. Squalo surprised Ryoma by attacking with a reverse grip, before switching to a normal grip, and then fighting with both hands, confusing Ryoma on which was the silverette's natural grip. It took a few more exchanges before Ryoma realised that his opponent used all grip types naturally, as if having learned several sword forms at once. Grandfather Echizen, however, was a thorough man, and had only taught Ryoma all eight forms of the Shigure Soen Ryu when he deemed Ryoma worthy. This happened just weeks before, and despite having completed his training recently, Ryoma summoned everything he knew — sword slashes, tennis movement techniques, _everything_ — and took on his opponent with the intent to defeat Squalo, and not to run away the first chance he got like most sensible fighters would. Echizen Ryoma didn't have "flee" in his vocabulary; just "attack."

Squalo, likewise, did not give up on his endeavour to teach a brat a lesson by means of violence. The silverette was also inwardly impressed that a boy many years his junior was fighting Squalo on an equal level, though he planned to change that soon enough. Revealing just why he was earning a reputation as one of the world's greatest swordsmen, Squalo conducted a complicated, delicate move that aimed to disarm an opponent and cut off their head; a move that took most years to master and one that Ryoma couldn't copy from seeing it just once despite the boy's talent. Ryoma instinctually reacted and moved to counterattack, managing to only get a cut above his eye, but his sword got knocked out of his hands. Squalo smirked in victory, but Ryoma was not finished yet. Acting as if he had a blade in his right hand, Ryoma swung at Squalo's unguarded face — startling the silverette for a moment who was so sure he had knocked Ryoma's sword away — before Ryoma caught his falling sword in midair with his left hand and struck at Squalo. The attack had broken skin and caused bleeding, but the cut was not as deep as such a fierce slash should have caused, and Squalo got up from the ground panting, bleeding, and outraged.

"VOOOII!" he shouted, turning to glare at his skilled opponent. Ryoma comically blinked in surprise. Squalo waved his sword at Ryoma in anger. "What are you, a pussycat? Why did you fight me with only the dull edge of your sword?" Ryoma rested his sword on his shoulder like he did with his racket moments earlier, unamused with his opponent's choice of words. "I'm not a cat." _Why does everyone compare me to one?_ "And I didn't have any intentions of severely injuring you." Squalo suddenly raised his sword to point at the cut above Ryoma's eye, nearly startling Ryoma into preparing to block an attack. "If I wasn't so annoyed by your way of fighting that I had to talk in the middle of our battle, you'd be dead by now." He lowered his sword, still glaring at Ryoma. "I'm quite merciless, pussycat." Ryoma's finger twitched. "You're just an annoying shark." Squalo's anger dissipated for a moment. "'Just?'" he echoed. Ryoma smirked. "No matter how much you try acting like the predator in the big ocean, there's always a cat above water ready to strike." "So you admit to the cat analogy." "Shut up."

With the battle adrenaline fading, Squalo took a more relaxed stance, weariness catching up to him. Ryoma appeared to start feeling the same when he took a moment to check his cut with one hand and only sighed at the amount of blood when he pulled his hand back; meanwhile, his sword gave way to a tennis racket. Squalo watched the sword-racket transformation with an unreadable expression, before speaking up. "What was that last move you pulled?" Ryoma's golden gaze flickered back to Squalo. The boy smirked. "Shigure Soen Ryu: Sa—"

"—Samidare!"

Squalo and Ryoma blinked when a Japanese man swung a sword at Ryoma, who didn't move to dodge. Squalo was about to warn the boy when he noticed that the Japanese man's hand wielding the sword dropped the weapon halfway through the swing, before catching it with the other hand to strike at Ryoma while the now empty hand acted as a decoy. Ryoma was apparently familiar enough with the move that he didn't allow himself to be tricked by the first hand and used the seconds-wide gap to summon the sword side of his racket. The Japanese man's eyes widened when his attack was stopped, but didn't allow his surprise to delay him and went into a combination of attacks, several ones that Squalo recognised from his match with Ryoma. Now watching the boy from the sidelines, Squalo realised that his recent opponent was quite skilled and had reflexes only those with rare talent often had, like some mafiosi Squalo knew who were part of Varia, an elite assassination group he had recently considered joining if only for the sake of challenging the current boss, Sword Emperor Tyr. The battle dialogue before Squalo pulled his attention back.

"I—Yamamoto Tsuyoshi—won't—let you—attack—a member—of the Vongola—Famiglia!"

_Clash!_

"What—in the world—are you spouting—crazy old man!?"

Squalo's eyes widened in realisation, and he huffed in irritation at the misunderstanding. In the blink of an eye, Squalo had used his sword to intercept an attack from the Japanese man meant for Ryoma, who lowered his own sword, sensing that the fight was ending. When Squalo had blocked the attack, he inwardly frowned. _The brat's left-handed slash was stronger. Had he been fighting me with his non-dominant hand?_ "Yamamoto Tsuyoshi of the Yamamoto Samurai line," Squalo identified the Japanese man. "What are you doing?" The recently introduced Tsuyoshi eased his sword from Squalo's own, but the Japanese man did not sheathe it. "While the attacker is young, he is quite sufficient with the sword, so I thought I should deal with him before he attacked you further." Squalo glanced back at Ryoma, who was confused but quiet, before looking back again at the Yamamoto. "You thought this trash was trying to kill me?" Tsuyoshi shrugged. "I do not know much of you, Vongola-san, nor your nature, so I don't know if you're one to initiate fights with non-Vongola members. I simply noticed the Vongola stitching on your coat and made the most logical assumption."

Ryoma finally spoke up and waved a hand to get Tsuyoshi's attention. "Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, is it? I'm Echizen Ryoma." Suddenly, the serious air vanished as Tsuyoshi rubbed the back of his head and laughed merrily, a stark contrast to his grave character earlier. Squalo and Ryoma stared, floored by the sudden attitude switch. "You must be Echizen Nanjirei's grandson! Sorry about that; I owe the Vongola Famiglia for saving my life, so I'm quite protective of any of the Family's members." Tsuyoshi apologetically lowered his sword, allowing it to transform into a bamboo sword. "I didn't know you two were sparring. When I walked by, I thought you and Vongola-san here were fighting each other!" Squalo and Ryoma spoke at the same time. "We were." Tsuyoshi blinked. "Oh…alright then. Do you want a bandage for that cut, Ryoma-kun?" Silence, and then….

"Annoying shark! Why didn't you remind me!?"

"VOOOII! Not my fault a pussycat was too busy fighting with a dull edge that he forgot he was injured!"

"Ahahaha!" Let it never be said Yamamoto Tsuyoshi didn't laugh with the oddest timing.

* * *

**A/N: Wow! I don't usually write chapters this long, but I thought it fitting to put the first fight between Ryoma and Squalo here, considering the fact that Ryoma got similar cuts above his eye in his match against Shinji and in his battle with Squalo. Also, Ryoma used both of his hands fighting Squalo, and if you've read Prince of Tennis, then you know about Nitouryuu. ;)**

**PCheshire: I will ****not**** be damaging or doing anything to Ryoma's ability to use flames. No need to worry! Ryoma's flame attribute will be revealed, but later. I find Sakuno annoying as well, so I'm with you there! ;P**

**Please review!**

Edited: 6/14/2013

* Please note additions and edits in the first two paragraphs under "Five Years Ago" (mentions of Ryoga, among other things). Also, middle school-related terms are replaced with high school ones.


	5. Strongest and the Potentially Strongest

**Chapter Four**

**The Strong and the Potentially Strong**

* * *

The Seigaku regulars looked at each other in confusion. "Mada mada dane?" Momo echoed. "It must be Ochibi's catchphrase, nya," Kikumaru guessed. Ryoma blocked out his sempais' comments as he focused on the court, as well as the murmurs rising from his audience when everyone realised that Seigaku's freshman was still going to play. Shinji frowned at Ryoma's left eye, which was covered by a bandage, but Fudomine's genius wasn't going to show mercy even with a handicapped opponent. Ryoma got up to serve, and he inwardly grit his teeth at his limited vision, but it wasn't like Yamamoto Tsuyoshi was going to pop out and suddenly start attacking him. Ryoma instinctively stretched out his senses, but the Reverse Mode pills were fulfilling their purpose, and Ryoma's senses were blocked at a distance and blurred into a detail that was considerably less than his average. Nevertheless, the entire court made the cut, and Ryoma could feel Shinji's presence without looking at him, but the blob that was the Fudomine player wasn't sharp enough for Ryoma to be able to tell what Shinji was doing, or even what body part was where. Sensing a ball would be much harder, but Ryoma was determined.

Tossing the sphere up in the air, and erasing all hesitation and doubt, Ryoma jumped up and made his racket meet the ball. Shinji seemed to have been saying something as Ryoma served, but when the ball flickered past the genius, even the other Fudomine players were shocked into silence. Ryoma exhaled slowly and stared defiantly at his opponent. He was Echizen Ryoma, darn it — the loss of half of his vision wasn't going to stop him! Shinji must have sensed Ryoma's intentions, and did not hold back — even pressing forward — when Ryoma gave another high-speed serve. Before getting injured by his racket, Ryoma had been playing around, testing what shots he could use to avoid the effects of Spot that didn't require using both of his hands, but now that everyone, even Coach Ryuzaki, wasn't expecting Ryoma to win, he was ten times more determined to do so, and serious about it. Every shot, every hard glint of the eye, every small motion Ryoma made spoke loudly for him what he wanted his opponent to understand.

_Don't look down on me. _

Shinji continued using Spot, and if Ryoma was disappointed his message wasn't heard, he didn't let it show. Instead, he decided to educate Shinji on how one special move wasn't enough to stop someone who gave his blood, sweat, and tears for the racket and the sword. "This is entertaining and all, but I'd like to point out that your technique has two weaknesses." Now with heavy attention on Ryoma, he decided not to let anyone down. Smirking, Ryoma made an opening in his play that Shinji took advantage of, and scrambled after the ball. "First, I can tell you've never used Spot on an ambidextrous opponent," Ryoma called out, and — distantly reminded of the fifth Shigure Soen Ryu form, Samidare — tossed his racket forward, where his right hand caught it in time to bend back and hit the ball, where it bounced out of Shinji's reach. Inwardly, Ryoma released a breath. With his senses dulled, the likeliness of Ryoma being able to catch a ball out of his vision was frustratingly low, but as long as he was able to send finishing moves like the one he just gave, then he need not have to worry. A roar from the crowd informed Ryoma that his ambidextrous attempt was successful. Another roar informed him that his cut was starting to bleed through the bandage.

Shinji started feeling frustrated as well, as the genius of his Spot was getting downplayed now that a one-eyed freshman was fighting it seemingly easily. With the declaration he'd just cause Spot in both of Ryoma's arms, the latter knew it was time to reveal the next weakness. Giving slices, which Ryoma discovered before receiving a cut above his eye, made it harder for an opponent to return the ball with a spin and thus impossible for Shinji to use Spot, which required alternating between topspins and slices. Making use of his observation, another game fell to Ryoma's favour when everyone eventually realised that it wasn't that Shinji didn't _want_ to use Spot, but that he _couldn't_. The fire to not give up still burned in Shinji's eyes, and a point of respect went to him when Ryoma saw it, but the freshman had already decided the fate of the match regardless of his opponent's admirable character. Finishing his last game with a smash, Shinji surprisingly caught up to it, but Ryoma had prepared for such. After all, not everyone had the same look in their eyes as Shinji. The ball spun in place for a moment, which was all the warning Shinji got before the ball jumped up for his eye. It was purely instinct that Shinji's hand caught it before he got a purple eye to match Ryoma's red, and the crowd burst in shouts when Ryoma had won with a Twist smash, just seconds before his ten minutes were up.

Seigaku finished the District Preliminaries with all victories, but Fudomine promised to beat them the next time they played, and with that declaration, the two teams parted. Ryoma was rushed to the hospital to get his cut properly treated, and then to Kawamura Sushi, where Seigaku celebrated. It was there that Ryoma's teammates discovered that their rookie didn't know much about school grading systems when he commented that he was surprised the coach let middle schoolers loose in a sushi restaurant. Momo laughed in good nature. "Echizen, you _do_ know that you're a high schooler, right? In Japan, we don't have a third year of middle school like America. In fact, depending on the school you go to here, you can go from K to grade 7 in the same school." Ryoma's blank stare gave all the answers Momo needed, and this time the regulars stared in disbelief.

"Echizen, how did _your_ school in America run?"

Here, Ryoma was the one stunned, and he said slowly, "I was…home-schooled." _What level would Vongola's curriculum be? How do I say that my schooling was done in Italian and English — that I didn't quite go to school in America for most of my life?_ In order to avoid a direction of discussion he'd rather not fall on, Ryoma asked for another subject to be clarified. "Why is the school called Seishuin Gakuen?" Kikumaru was the one to answer after downing an entire cup of tea due to having accidentally eaten one of Fuji's wasabi rolls. "Ochibi…that's the name of the building next to us. We attend Seishuin High." When Ryoma looked ready to ask another question, Inui replied, having predicted it was coming. "The reason we're called Seigaku is because the Seishuin middle school started the tennis club, and we're using what were _their_ courts." Ryoma gave an annoyed twitch of his eyebrow at that. Muttering how troublesome it was to remember all of it under his breath, the Seigaku regulars simply laughed in guessing what their rookie was mumbling. If they listened more carefully, they would have realised Ryoma was speaking in Italian.

The following few days saw the regulars following training schedules, as usual. Ryoma's cut and Kawamura's wrist had healed considerably, but Oishi and Coach Ryuzaki were careful to keep an eye on the two recently injured regulars. After practice one day, Ryoma was surprised to receive a text from an unknown number in his cellphone's inbox, and, fending off Horio's and Kikumaru's curiosity, managed to read the message without letting anyone else see it. It paid off, when the screen showed the text,

"Heard about the eye. Come to TakeSushi. TODAY. —29"

The sight of the two numbers together brought back memories of cards, and Ryoma was quick to shake them away. It was a long bus ride to Namimori, and Ryoma did his best to go straight for TakeSushi, unwilling to take chances being reminded of the past he was forced to leave behind. If he saw young Tsunayoshi, he didn't know what he would do. At the restaurant, which was closed when he came in, Ryoma wasn't surprised to see Riku relaxedly sitting at the sushi bar with a cup of water in his hands, but the presence of one Yamamoto Tsuyoshi threw Ryoma off a bit. _Why would he want to be present when the albino checks up on me?_ Namimori was a long ways from Riku's home in Japan, but Ryoma knew to expect the white-haired male there due to the text's telling number, 29. Having devised a combat tactic from his deck of cards that suited different individuals best, Riku assigned numbers to names; Ri in Riku sounded like _ni_, or 2 in Japanese, and the Ku of Riku sounded like the Japanese word for 9, which was _kyuu_ or _ku_. Ryoma's name sounded most like 4 and 7, which were _yon_ and _nana_ in Japanese respectively. Sena was 21, as that was his favourite number, and it never seemed to leave him.

It was a hot day, so the regular jersey hung loosely on Ryoma's shoulders as he sat down without a word, and Riku got to work checking the white scar where the cut was, Tsuyoshi all the while silent. Riku held back Ryoma's bangs with one hand, and with the other, experimentally traced Ryoma's white scar with sun flames. When the white-haired boy pulled his hand back, the scar was gone, and satisfied enough, brought his hands back to cradling the cup of water. Ryoma glared at him. "You shouldn't heal every little cut I get, albino," he spoke for the first time entering the restaurant. "What's the point of attempting to play tennis fairly when I end up getting myself healed back to perfection after a match, while others are not so fortunate?" Riku stared hard at Ryoma, not offended by the rather blunt statement, at least on the outside. "I had to be sure of something," he cryptically replied, before looking away. Nodding to Tsuyoshi, Riku got up to leave, and neither of the kids in the room spared another glance at each other as Riku walked away and disappeared. Ryoma finally turned to his uncle figure.

"What was that about?"

Tsuyoshi smiled, but it wasn't with the carefree characteristic that often irked others by the obliviousness in it. "You really like tennis," the old man observed, and Ryoma raised a brow. "Yamamoto-oji," he warned, and Tsuyoshi laughed. "Maa, maa. Riku-kun was worried tennis might be causing you pain," he confessed, and Ryoma huffed. "Any sport comes with chances of injury." Tsuyoshi agreed with the statement, but if Ryoma was looking, he would have noticed that another meaning was hidden under the Yamamoto's words. Waving the serious air away with a cheerful smile, Tsuyoshi offered to make sushi for Ryoma, who politely refused and admitted he should be heading home anyway. When the young Echizen disappeared past the restaurant door, Tsuyoshi's smile slid off his face, and he sighed, suddenly very tired. "I hope nothing like this happens to Takeshi…."

* * *

Hibari glared at the weaklings who thought they could push him around just because they were born a few years earlier. One of them had a metal pipe, another had brass knuckles, but all was irrelevant in the face of the Hibari Factor — weaklings would be defeated by the strongest in Namimori, in other words, Hibari Kyouya. Unfortunately, he had already gotten in trouble for destruction of property, but his opponents practically begging to be beaten up always caused some sort of disturbance when they struggled using weapons and fists against the fighting monster that was Hibari, resulting in a cracked building here or too much blood there. The weaklings thought that by increasing their number, they could take revenge and challenge the fighting monster head-on.

Pfft…herbivores.

Like anything low on the food chain, the lowlifes thought quantity beat quality when they obviously lacked the latter, and Hibari was always willing to educate them thoroughly. Kusakabe Tetsuya could be heard sighing from a distance away as Hibari took out his tonfa and his opponents spread out in front, Kusakabe chewing on a stalk of grass no doubt having guessed Hibari's thoughts. The fools who disturbed Hibari from his nap stood no chance against the irate, self-proclaimed carnivore of Namimori, but when they shockingly discovered a lucky opening in the battle, Hibari found himself watching brass knuckles head for his ribs, and he hissed in anger at the realisation. The approaching fist suddenly found itself caught in the throat of a tennis racket, instead. Graceful hands twisted the racket and released it from the fist, where instead of Hibari's ribs receiving a nasty, bone-breaking punch, an herbivore's face met it instead. Three teeth flew out, and the metal pipe in the herbivore's hands slipped out and hit another herbivore. Two weaklings went down instantly from one swift move of a racket, and Hibari stumbled to the floor due to the loss of balance and watched as a teen with a cap and a loose jersey hanging from his shoulders entered the scene. The other herbivores, confident in their weapons versus the newcomer's racket, demanded he step aside, but the male only appeared amused.

"Mada mada dane," he called out, and then proceeded to use his racket and elegant, balanced footwork and movements to take down the herbivores, using the racket as an extension of his arms and hooking stray herbivores' swings to avoid Hibari and nearby property, which miffed Hibari when he hadn't been able to do the same himself in his past fights. Perhaps if he installed chains in his tonfa…. The one-sided battle was over in a blink. "Hey. Don't you know that destruction of property is against school rules?" the male with the racket smirked at his downed opponents. "Consider yourself lucky I bothered helping you guys avoid breaking these rules." The herbivores moaned in pain, and some vigorously nodded with the promise they would never break rules again. Hibari raised a brow. Why didn't _he_ think of that? The one with the racket didn't look much older than Hibari, maybe only by at least one year, yet he took down herbivores _and_ didn't destroy property, as well as managed to influence these herbivores to stop causing trouble for him! Hibari usually just went in for the kill. If it took more than one fight for the herbivores to understand, then Hibari would fight ten more times if necessary.

The male with the racket soon turned and looked at Kusakabe and Hibari. The latter of the two boys stood up and met the newcomer's gaze evenly, who only appeared more amused by this. "How do you not get herbivores' blood on yourself?" Hibari asked. The newcomer only smirked, and with the rustle of his jersey, walked away. Hibari stared after him, and Kusakabe joined him where he stood. "Do we know him?" he asked. Hibari looked away. "It doesn't matter. Now we do." The racket-male's jersey looked pretty cool, but a prefect jacket could create the same effect…. What about a punchline? All Hibari concerned himself with were the natural interactions of the food chain, which always ended with him on top. When the herbivores started getting back up, and their herbivore friends joined them after spotting the group, Hibari took on an excited smirk.

"Kamikorosu."

* * *

"Echizen." The freshman looked up to be met with the sight of the team captain staring intently down at him. "Come with me," Tezuka ordered, and Ryoma got up from his sit ups to follow, inquisitively looking at his captain's back and glancing around him, wondering if anyone was seeing this and if they knew the reason why the captain suddenly needed him. Away from the courts and by a deserted side of the school mostly occupied with trees, Tezuka stopped, turned to face Ryoma, and put his hand in his pocket to get something. Ryoma's eyes automatically sharpened, prepared for a weapon to suddenly come out and aim for him, but his minutely tense posture relaxed in surprise when a tennis ball was tossed to him. With eyes on the ball, Ryoma didn't notice Tezuka's own eyes narrowing. The captain always sensed something running beneath Ryoma's skin like current, but for a reason Tezuka couldn't find, the rookie of the regulars preferred to reign in this power and lock it up if necessary — just like now, when the freshman appeared ready for the worst but then wrestled the awareness away at the sight of a tennis ball. _Why?_ For someone who didn't like losing, Echizen was surprisingly resistant of giving his all on the court. He had the potential to be great, and Tezuka could sense a future pillar of support in the rookie.

"Do you know of the clay courts near Haruno University?" Tezuka asked. Ryoma started, but squashed the urge to allow the full depth of his surprise to show, and his body quickly, albeit unnaturally, relaxed. "By the train bridge, right?" he asked. _That's where I first saw the annoying shark and the Cavallone…._ Tezuka nodded in confirmation. "Three days from now, at 3pm, I'll be waiting for you there." With that, the captain left, and Ryoma stared after him, the ball nestled in his hand like an invitation for something round and full with promise. Tearing his eyes away from the disappearing back of his captain, Ryoma held the ball up to the sunset, as if the sphere was the shining body in space, and not the Sun. Ryoma's flames within stirred in anticipation of a duel, and his lips flickered with a faint smirk.

"Is three days too long?" he muttered to himself.

Tezuka seemed to share Ryoma's restlessness, as Oishi noticed small habits of Tezuka's appearing when the glasses-wearing teen was pumped up for something. "The kitten looks excited for the Tokyo Tournament," Fuji's voice startled Oishi out of his thoughts one day, and Oishi blanched when he followed the genius's line of sight when he spoke. "Don't let Echizen hear you call him that." Fuji only gave a closed-eyed smile. "I like the look in our rookie's eyes," he airily commented, but Oishi had noticed as well. Inwardly, the vice-captain frowned. Tezuka would never let his guard down, especially with the big tournament coming up, but Echizen's sudden increase of focus during practice instead of the usual playful air made Oishi's mother-hen instincts act up. Eventually, he confronted his childhood friend about it, and Tezuka gave him the look of someone who already made up his mind. "The doctor said to avoid long matches and your Zero-Shiki Drop Shot," Oishi reminded. "Your arm just recently healed." When Tezuka looked away, Oishi knew his stubborn friend was going to follow through his plan anyway. "Echizen needs to become more than a copy," the serious third-year stated. The next day, three Seigaku regulars were gone. This inspired the other regulars to ask about it. "Coach, where is Echizen?" Ryuzaki Sumire only crossed her arms at that.

"He called in sick."

"And Oishi?"

"Sick."

"Tezuka-buchou?"

"…Sick."

The regulars stared at each other. Inui pushed his glasses up his nose. "I smell a conspiracy." The others agreed with him. At the Haruno courts, three regulars sneezed, but quickly waved it away as Tezuka prepared to serve. It was a fast one right off the bat, and Ryoma was stunned he could only watch the ball pass him and not even have time to move. He was prepared for the next serve, but just as it was fast, it was also powerful, and the freshman soon realised he couldn't play around like he did in his past matches. The smirk on Ryoma's face faded away as the match wore on, and Tezuka watched as something shifted in his opponent.

_Ah,_ Tezuka noted, _here comes the true Echizen Ryoma._

Ryoma could feel his flames thrashing in his core, fighting the dull sensation the Reverse Mode pills set up, begging to be released, but even if Ryoma wanted to, it would be impossible to summon the flames, and he knew it. All he had left now was raw tennis skill, and a sudden bloodlust spiked within him. If he was Squalo, a wicked grin would have etched itself across his face, but with Ryoma, his entire body and aura curled up on itself and snapped out power, like a poised cat coming out to bite when its prey least expected. Ryoma was neither smirking nor frowning, and it was with an unreadable straight face that he attacked each ball with deadly precision and power, but with overwhelming, burning eyes that he stared hard at Tezuka, his opponent, as if he didn't need to look at the ball to win.

As if he could defeat Tezuka with willpower alone.

No matter, Tezuka had planned to go all out in the beginning — Echizen's actions only reinforced this — and four games went in for Tezuka in the first hour. Ryoma had not given up yet, and every ball he sent back was sharp, quick, and deadly; sometimes, Tezuka felt as if he was biting the edge of a sword. As their match wore on, the two green-haired males startled Oishi when they broke the steady white noise of tennis sounds by asking at the same time, "Why are you protective of your left arm?" Tezuka had initially believed his opponent was conscious of his left eye area where he was recently cut, but the more strokes they exchanged, the more Tezuka had realised that his opponent was like himself. Ryoma's eyes were shadowed by his cap, and the freshman stood silent, but Tezuka wasn't willing to give an answer to the question either, so the captain moved to the line to serve.

When he glanced across the net, Ryoma was in a ready position with both hands on his racket, his eyes shadowed by his bangs instead, but when a wind swept by and brushed aside the bangs for a moment, Tezuka's eyes widened minutely at what he saw. Ryoma's eyes, while blazing with intent, were otherwise unreadable; in fact, the freshman didn't appear to be entirely present, as if seeing something else.

only reacting to the ball because of an innate desire to win. Tezuka hadn't realised he was playing against someone who was moving solely on instincts and willpower, especially since Ryoma voiced a question earlier, but even then the freshman must not have realised he had spoken. Tezuka suddenly felt like he was playing someone else, and not just a first year student.

Their match continued, and Tezuka was determined to send his message across, knowing that even if Ryoma was not mentally with him, at least his body would remember Tezuka's message for the freshman. That was the beauty of tennis, after all. Athletes could share entire stories without having to speak a word, but what Tezuka had to say was simple yet powerful. _Echizen, become Seigaku's pillar of support!_ Whenever Ryoma had to aim for a spot on the court to send the ball to, Tezuka would try to catch his kohai's gaze and express his intent through his own. Even when Ryoma showed no outward reaction to Tezuka's actions, the captain didn't allow himself to feel discouraged. Speaking aloud, Tezuka sought Ryoma's attention.

"Why do you play tennis?"

_Pok. _

"Can you beat me?"

_Pok. _

"Echizen!"

_Swish, rattle._

The ball hit the fence behind Ryoma, where it proceeded to fall and bounce a few times on the ground before rolling to a stop. Tezuka stared intently at Ryoma, who was staring unfocused at one spot and was frozen in place with his racket still in his hands, as if he hadn't registered that the point ended. Tezuka had finally won with 7-0, and Oishi — aware that Ryoma hadn't lost a match before, and afraid the team rookie might be shocked by Tezuka's absolute victory — stepped forward towards the wired fence. Tezuka had not moved his eyes from Ryoma, and the captain opened his mouth, no less determined than he was when he first stepped onto the court. "Tezuka," Oishi softly but firmly cut in, and the captain finally looked at him. Oishi pursed his lips. "Leave him be." Tezuka looked back at Ryoma, who still hadn't moved. "Echizen—"

"Please."

Tezuka and Oishi were startled to hear the frozen freshman speak, and they watched as Ryoma straightened up and let his arms fall back to their sides with his racket loosely held in one hand. He seemed to mentally be back, and while his body appeared to have life again, its aura of energy felt crooked, as if suffering shock and trying to regain itself. Ryoma's head tilted up, and the brim of his cap allowed the setting sun to hit his bangs which were swept aside, revealing dim yellow eyes and a tired, heartbroken smile.

"Please don't say any more."

* * *

The next day, Tezuka and Ryoma didn't come to practice. Oishi resolutely ignored the team's raised brows and demanding stares and Coach Ryuzaki quickly put everyone on track, but the two still inwardly worried over the reason behind the two regulars' absence. Tezuka had skipped practice for the purpose of getting his elbow checked by his doctor, just to be safe, but Ryoma had skipped for the desire of quiet and room to go over his thoughts. Tezuka and Ryoma had left the court after their match yesterday without a word to each other; the former had left for the train with a silent, worried Oishi, who was barely restraining himself from fretting over both of Seigaku's currently strongest and potentially future strongest players, and Ryoma had headed home alone on foot, almost in a daze as the buzz of adrenaline eventually faded from his ears. Now, with only the stillness of his bedroom to surround him, Ryoma lay thinking on his bed.

_Echizen, become Seigaku's pillar of support!_

Shaking his head, Ryoma willed the message away, but it resolutely stuck like a flower petal between racket strings, and Ryoma was unwilling to possibly tear the delicate but stubborn piece of beauty in the process of tugging out. Hn. There were other petals to loosen anyway—_Why do you play tennis? Can you beat me? Echizen!_—but no less difficult to confront, especially considering the captain's inner, radiant fire when he offered them. Besides, being a pillar of support wasn't really Ryoma's thing; Sena did most of that. No, wait—Ryoma could definitely provide support, but he wasn't about to become a steady rock in the Seigaku network like Tezuka so perfectly fulfilled. Sighing, Ryoma thought back to his match with Tezuka Kunimitsu the day before, brows now knit in tension and lips firmly set in a straight line, reflecting his deep thinking.

_"Why do you play tennis?"_ A flicker of memories—Sena and the albino by tennis courts as they smiled at Ryoma's reply; long ago, when oyaji seemed much taller and was asking something across the court with a cheery grin—and Ryoma rubbed his eyes to soothe the pain, scrambling after the memories but exhaling slowly when they slipped out of his grasp like rainwater. Fine then. If he had to give an answer, he played tennis because he didn't want to become a dull existence; somehow, it would feel like proving the world that Echizen Ryoma was a nobody once the mafia was taken away from him. Besides, he loved tennis.

_"Can you beat me?" _

That was harder to answer.

_Buchou, you don't want me to beat you, believe me—_but what about in a tennis match? In the mafia, Ryoma wasn't even the strongest swordsman in the world, because Squalo never allowed himself to officially lose to Ryoma. In tennis, Ryoma was practically cheating with his background abilities. Where did he fall? He wanted to belong to tennis, but his pride demanded defending his swordsman capabilities, and he couldn't abandon Sena—and admittedly, the albino—so easily. If Ryoma gave his all in a tennis match, Tezuka wouldn't stand a chance; if Ryoma was under Reverse Mode pills, the match result would be less clear. Didn't Ryoma not want to be barely an existence, though? He wanted to feel complete, and being lesser than himself by allowing himself to become the rookie lucky enough to be a regular, but not someone to acknowledge, defied every fibre in his being.

_"Echizen!"_

Ryoma shook his head again. _Stop overthinking it, idiot. Just become a player strong enough to beat Buchou, even under Reverse Mode pills. _Ryoma smiled to himself as he had found a satisfying solution to Tezuka's challenge and Ryoma's inner dilemma. Can he beat Seigaku's captain? Pfft, he was _Echizen Ryoma_—just watch him!

Later, when Nanjirou and Ryoma would play at their dirt tennis court, Nanjirou would stare in astonishment when a ball would flash past him and his son would whoop like a child in victory, before looking across the court at Nanjirou with, "I want to become stronger, oyaji. Much, much stronger!" For the first time in what Nanjirou felt like was a long time, the dusty wheels of fate twitched, and a gear clicked in place, waiting for when the wheels would continue turning. Watching his son, Najirou couldn't help but grin widely. He had to thank whoever it was who understood enough of Ryoma's personality to give the freshman something the child lacked in his play: passion to win.

* * *

**A/N: Some of this chapter was mostly based off of chapter 42 in the PoT manga, but there **_**are**_** PoT anime influences! **

**I debated over the idea, and I decided that Ryoma and co. need to be in high school, since I find it hard for the future Vongola Tenth generation to see Ryoma, Sena, and Riku as "sempai" in Vongola/mafia business. Therefore, I have edited/will be editing "five years ago" and other age references in all my chapters (posted and yet to be posted), so feel free to point out an error when you see one! :)**

**How does one introduce fan-made terms to a crossover universe? Make them part of a code! With Riku and the two others accustomed to using numbers to quickly to refer to people and themselves, they can send texts to each other concerning Vongola matters without using the subjects' real names—certainly handy in the future, no? For those unaware, KHR characters more often than not have a two-digit number assigned to them because their names sound like numbers in Japanese. (I.e. Tsuna is 27 (**_**two**_** and **_**nana**_**), Gokudera is 59 (**_**go**_** and **_**kyuu/ku**_**), etc.) **

**And there you have it—Ryoma meeting a future Tenth Generation Vongola guardian! I put much thought over it, but I couldn't help but point out in my fic how Ryoma and Hibari are closer in character than Ryoma and Yamamoto, but the latter pair's relationship DOES have importance—love it, hate it, or don't care! ;P**

**Apologies for the wait; summer vacation trips and the inevitable planning/packing headaches—enough said. Hopefully, this won't stop me from writing and posting weekly! ;^_^**


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